


hold me deep (beneath your waves)

by gwendolynflight



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Ace character, Anal Fingering, F/F, F/M, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Multi, Pegging, Statutory Rape, Undernegotiated Kink, ace jughead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-04-18 13:33:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14214228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwendolynflight/pseuds/gwendolynflight
Summary: As Archie recovers from his relationship with Miss Grundy, he begins to grow closer to his friends.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “Electric Love,” Borns. 
> 
> This is sort of my attempt at understanding Archie's actions in season 1, especially the relationship with Miss Grundy. The references to their relationship are not explicit, and not what I'm referring to with the rating. I'm keeping this portion in line with canon.

Archie Andrews was a scrawny kid.

Always tall for his age, Archie was long, stick-like limbs, knobbly knees and sharp elbows, chest like a xylophone – ribs sticking out no matter how much his parents fed him. It was never a weak thinness. Rather, his constant, exuberant motion rendered away any possible fat, and left just a lean, raw-boned stick beneath a mop of bright red hair. Archie Andrews was a scrawny kid, and this was the central fact of his life for his first fourteen years.

Always active, Archie played every sport supported by the Riverdale public school system, or for which Fred Andrews could make a trade, or which had been sponsored by a local rotary club – football, soccer, baseball, basketball, even lacrosse one summer when Fred traded a roof for three months worth of lessons. But football was the dream. Football was the goal, Fred explaining to his sprouting beanstalk of a son that football players could get scholarships to the kind of colleges Fred wouldn’t be able to afford. And Archie, while dedicated, and steady, would never get the kind of grades needed for those other kinds of scholarships, the kind Betty would get. After she had to tutor Archie to help him finish the second grade, the Andrews men turned as a unit to sports as Archie’s way out.

But as a brand new freshman, already 5’8” but only 120lbs, Archie’s first tryout for the Riverdale Bulldogs went … poorly.

“I’m never going to get out of here, Jug,” Archie muttered, tossing a rock out into Sweetwater’s slow current. “Never go to college, never be anything.”

Jughead Jones, a boy as scrawny as Archie, but unlikely to ever fill out as Archie was expected to, pushed their shoulders together companionably. “Yes, you will,” Jughead said as if completely certain.

Archie pushed back, ignoring the pain it shot through his thin, bruised arm. “I need a business degree to run my dad’s company,” Archie said, his voice thick with frustration.

“And you’ll get one,” Jughead reassured him, keeping his eyes on the water but glancing over at Archie every few seconds. Caught up in his misery, and the unfamiliar feeling of having been pummeled by the juniors and seniors on the varsity team, Archie didn’t notice.

“Making JV is still pretty great, Arch,” Jughead tried.

“But it’s not varsity,” Archie said. “And if I don’t start playing at that level soon, I’ll never be good enough for college ball.” That final sentence was proclaimed in apocalyptic tones and Jughead, who had little patience for sports, only held on to his scoffing laughter for love of his friend.

“You’re thirteen,” Jughead said, trying for supportive.

“Nearly fourteen,” Archie said sullenly.

“Nearly fourteen,” Jughead allowed. “You’ll hit your growth spurt really soon, I bet, and get just as big as those guys.”

“You think?” Archie asked him, hope obvious and bright in his amber eyes.

Jughead wanted to be wrong. He knew things would change if Archie became one of the varsity players. They were the bane of Jughead’s existence. 

While Archie was a stringbean, he was also a nice kid, with an easy smile and an easy-going disposition. He wasn’t handsome, quite yet, but enough adults had pinched his cheeks and fawned over him that Jughead knew it would be coming (and how adults could always tell which kids would grow up to be pretty or handsome Jughead didn’t understand, but resented, since he’d always been on the other side of that). 

So overall Archie didn’t get bullied. Not like Jughead did. And part of Jughead worried about what might happen to his friend, and to their friendship, if Archie did change in these ways. Archie, though friendly, had few real friends, and part of Jughead wanted to keep it that way.

But a larger part of Jughead loved his friend, and so when Archie, gentle, good-hearted Archie asked “You think?” in that hopeful voice, all Jughead could do was clap him on the back and reply, “Of course.”

Jughead Jones was a perceptive kid, in addition to being scrawny, and was often correct in his predictions. This was the central fact of his life; his awareness of this fact brought him no pleasure.

So when Archie finally began to fill out in the spring of their freshman year, Jughead knew himself to be right and, in spite of himself, began to prepare for the end.

In a way, the road trip was meant as a farewell.

Archie was beginning to put on muscle, covering those raw bones. The weather was growing warmer, and while Archie’s mom had moved to Chicago just before Christmas, and Archie had leaned on Jughead and Betty all the more heavily, Jughead could sense that the summer would bring the biggest change.

They still spent almost all their time together, at the river, or walking through quiet neighborhoods, at Archie’s, or in Betty’s backyard, or at Pop’s, most often. But the football coach was starting to make noises about moving Archie to varsity if he did well over the summer, and Betty was looking at Archie a little differently these days, more like girls looked at boys in the movies, even though Archie hadn’t noticed. Things were changing, and Jughead could suddenly see the different ways in which he would be left behind.

So, he thought, one last hurrah. A tinier bit older than Archie, Jughead had gotten his license after his fifteenth birthday, leaning hard on rural exemptions even though no Jones had owned a farm since his grandpa lost the family homestead to drink and gambling. He mentioned the license to Archie, and proposed the loan of Mr. Andrews’ truck for the Fourth of July weekend.

When Betty sadly admitted she’d applied for an internship across the country, it had in ways seemed more perfect. A final goodbye handled one on one, as it should be.

But for Archie, as summer approached and he began to work for his dad, the central fact of his life changed. Archie Andrews, as Kevin Keller would note one late August evening, got hot.

Archie didn’t notice this at first, and certainly never intended to pull away from his friends. But he was working construction, by necessity a day job, while Jughead started working at the drive-in, by necessity an evening job. Betty was in LA, and sent him excited emails every few days about the amazing work she was doing and the amazing people that she was meeting, the gorgeous weather and the sense of freedom, ocean breezes and jogging by the Hollywood sign. It sounded magical, a million years away from Riverdale. 

Archie tried to respond to those. But construction proved to be hard work. No, that was an understatement – it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He’d filled in a little that spring, but coming onto the construction site he was still 140 lbs soaking wet, and the ten and twelve hour days of hauling brick and bags of cement at first meant that he did little more than eat and sleep, and then wake up to eat some more, for the first month at least.

It got a little easier as he started putting on real muscle, and in the middle of June it was like he pulled his head out of a fog to find dozens of unanswered emails from Betty, and even more texts from Jughead, who understood they were on opposite schedules, and claimed he understood how tired, how absolutely bone weary Archie had been, but who wanted to hang out anyway.

Both emails and texts had slowed, though, over the past month, changing in tone before finally petering off.

“Well, shoot,” Archie muttered, looking down at his phone. He must have hurt his friends so much with his silence. He could explain, he just had to figure out how.

Better to start with Jughead, since he could do that in person. And then maybe Jughead could help compose his email to Betty.

“Everything okay, son?” Fred asked, pausing by Archie, who looked downcast and a bit sunburnt.

“Yeah, dad, no, I just …”

“Woah, what is it?”

“Can I take off a little early?” Archie asked, pleading like he hadn’t since the great Vegas campaign. “Just today, I promise. It’s important.”

Fred thought for a moment. “I can’t take off early to drive you home,” he started.

“I’m just going to Jughead’s,” Archie broke in, “I can walk it.”

Fred okayed this plan, neither of them realizing that Jughead’s mom had taken Jellybean and left FP, who’d fallen off the wagon, lost the house, and moved into the trailer park across town, nor that, following a fit of FP’s drunken rage, Jughead had decided the drive-in made an adequate place to live as well as to work.

There were a few vaguely-worded texts on Archie’s phone alluding to this situation, had Archie taken the time to decode them, and had he the skill. But at the moment, Archie had neither, and started walking through the afternoon heat toward his best friend’s ex-house.

The temp was in the high 90s, though the heat index put it over 100, and Archie walked in the dusty grass at the side of the road at a slow but steady pace. Sweat poured off him, and he stripped off his flannel almost immediately, not caring if he burned in just his tank top. His feet, encased in his heavy work boots, might as well have been sealed in lead, and his heavy denim jeans stuck to his skin and were difficult to move, they were so wet with sweat. He hadn’t thought to bring a water bottle, and was just trying to figure out the best place to stop for a drink – Pop’s was back the other way, the gas station was two blocks over but that felt like a million miles just now, didn’t Reggie live over this way – when a small, blue Volkswagen Beetle pulled over and a woman’s voice called, “It’s too hot to be walking out here, want a lift?”

Archie stopped, of course. He knew he shouldn’t accept rides from strangers, but he knew this woman from school, he thought.

“Miss Grundy?” he asked, stepping closer, wiping sweat out of his eyes with a forearm.

Her eyes widened, and he noticed she’s pushed the rim of her odd, heart-shaped sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, and was looking over them. “Mister Andrews,” she said, sounding surprised. “I didn’t recognize you there.”

Archie ducked his head, feeling oddly self-conscious though he wasn’t sure why. “I guess I wasn’t that memorable,” he excused her, remembering his tendency to sit near the back of the room in her music class. He’d enjoyed her class well enough, but was too shy to participate more than the minimum.

“Oh, that isn’t it, Mister Andrews,” Miss Grundy said, laughing a little. “You were a very talented student, of course I remember you.”

“I was?” Archie stammered. “You do?”

“Of course,” she said again, and her smile was so wide it was like looking at the sun. “I just meant that you’d grown up so much, over the summer.”

Archie could accept that answer. After all, he’d been oddly unsure that this vibrant woman, her face bright and full of color, her hair tumbling loose about her thin shoulders, was the same drab, strait-laced Miss Grundy he remembered from class. She was wearing a pretty sun dress that had just thin little straps covering her shoulders, and Archie saw a bead of sweat running over one shapely collarbone. 

He swallowed, and determinedly looked up. “I could use that ride,” he admitted. “I was headed to a friend’s house, and it feels like it’s just getting hotter.”

“It sure does,” she agreed, her voice sounding a little hoarse. Archie wondered if she was getting one of those summer colds he’d heard about. “Hop in, Mr. Andrews.”

He hurried to do so, closing the door with a too-loud thump, used to his dad’s truck. She winced at the bang, and he reached for his seatbelt, feeling sheepish. “Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay, Mr. Andrews,” she said, leading over to help him when the belt got stuck. “Just be careful? It’s an antique, you know.”

Her hair smelled sweet, Archie noticed, and suddenly the air inside her little car felt too close, like he couldn’t quite breathe. “I will, Miss Grundy,” he said faintly. “And, uh, you can call me Archie. All the other teachers do.”

Miss Grundy leaned back into her seat, seeming pleased about something. “Archie, then.” She reached over and patted his hand where it had settled in his lap. “And you must call me Geraldine.”

Then they were driving, but Archie didn’t think that’s why he was dizzy. “Geraldine,” he tried.

“Archie,” she returned, a little playfully, and Archie couldn’t help but notice that her eyes sparkled. “I know that you’re committed to football,” she began after a moment, “but have you ever thought about pursuing music?”

“Oh,” Archie said, blinking. “No, I hadn’t really …”

“Because you really are talented, Archie,” she said, cutting him off, and the way she said his name … it was like she was caressing it with her voice.

“I am?” he managed, trying not to stare at her.

“Oh, yes,” she insisted, glancing over at him and winking. Archie shivered. “You play so many instruments so well,” she continued, “which is your favorite?”

Archie’s brows wrinkled. The school made them learn the recorder and the xylophone, for some reason, but he hadn’t thought he’d displayed any particular talent or even enthusiasm there. “The guitar,” he said, naming the one instrument he owned. His dad had picked up an old acoustic guitar at a yard sale, and thought Archie might like it. Archie could play a little, mostly copying songs he’d heard on the radio.

“Of course, the guitar,” she said, as if reminded. “You show such promise, Archie. Have you ever thought about lessons.” She paused. “Private lessons?”

Archie had to look away then. “I, uh, we wouldn’t be able to afford something like that, Miss Grundy.”

“Geraldine,” she insisted.

“Right, uh, Geraldine.” Archie wanted to bring the conversation back to the cost, but was too ashamed. His dad sacrificed so much for him, he couldn’t ask for lessons on top of that.

“I suppose you would have to ask your father,” Geraldine said, and she sounded disappointed in him.

“Well, yeah,” Archie said. “I made a little this summer, but not enough for private lessons.”

“Oh, Archie,” she said, “that’s just tragic. A talent like yours, snuffed out because of a little money.” She paused thoughtfully. “What if I offered you lessons for free?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t accept, my dad would never go for that,” Archie stammered, feeling his face heat. His father had always had strong feelings about accepting charity.

“Hold that thought,” she said, pulling into the parking lot of a storefront that only had a business in it around different holidays, one that sold fireworks, one that sold Halloween costumes. It was empty now, though the fireworks store should be opening soon.

“I need to get to my friend’s house,” Archie said, looking at the blank glass windows uneasily.

“Of course, Archie, of course,” she murmured as she turned to reach for something in the back seat. In the confines of the car, Archie caught another heady whiff of her scent. Peaches, he thought.

He heard latches clicking, and when she turned back around she was holding a guitar. “I just thought we could take a moment for a sort of audition,” she said, passing him the guitar.

He took it, and shifted around in the seat until he could hold it comfortably. “What, uh, what should I play?”

“Anything you like,” she said, staring at him intently.

Archie’s fingers pushed on the frets a few times, locating chords without strumming. In the car, it was so quiet they could hear each touch of metal to metal. Archie hadn’t ever really taken the guitar seriously, and had only learned a few songs. For some reason, the one that came to mind was a love song. Translating its electronic beats to chords, he sang softly, and shyly. “He won’t touch you like I do, he won’t love you like I would.”

He mostly looked down at the guitar, focused on what his fingers were doing. But when he glanced up at her, her eyes were shining.

When he finished, she clapped enthusiastically. “Archie, that was amazing!”

“You think so?” he said, flushing again.

“I know so,” she said firmly. “I don’t know if you know this,” she continued, “but I graduated from Julliard.”

Archie wasn’t sure what that was, entirely, but said, “Wow.” He didn’t want her to realize his ignorance right away.

“So, I’ve seen a lot of talented people play,” she was saying, “and I swear, Archie, you’re already one of the best.”

A pleased, warm feeling swept through him at the praise. “Really? I, uh, thank you.”

“But with lessons, Archie, you could be amazing.” She paused, and when he didn’t say anything, a little lost for words, she sighed. “Archie, this is an amazing opportunity for you, I hope you realize that.”

This was familiar language, this he knew how to respond to. “I do appreciate that, really.” But there was still the issue of payment. “Maybe I could get another job…” He’d tried a few jobs after school in the spring, scooping ice cream (where he’d set the freezer on fire); the bowling alley (where he’d played a round and put a crack across three lanes); old man Peterson’s pressure washing company (where he’d pressure washed someone’s Porsche); none of these jobs worked out, so it was kind of remarkable that construction was going so well. Still, maybe there was another place he hadn’t tried yet ….

“Archie, I’m quite serious. It would be my honor to tutor you for free. Just, consider it part of what the school pays me for.” She put a hand on his arm, and while Archie wanted to pull back, he also kind of liked the feeling.

“But my dad,” he began.

She let go of his arm. “It could be our secret,” she offered.

“I dunno, I’m not sure about lying to my dad.”

“Well, I suppose you are very young,” she sighed. “It’s a shame that you’re only fifteen.”

“I’m nearly sixteen,” he protested, even though that birthday was still six months away.

“That’s as may be,” she said ruefully. “You’re still very … attached to your parents.”

That warm, special feeling was draining away, leaving Archie feeling attacked, and confused. “I’m not, I mean, I sneak out all the time.”

“Still, you might be a little immature for this,” she said, turning back to the steering wheel like she might turn the key and restart the engine, and it was like the sun turning away from him.

“That’s not true,” Archie said, a little desperately. “I’m totally mature, I’ve been working with my dad’s crew all summer. I can keep up.”

She pulled her hand back from the keys, which still hung in the ignition, swinging slightly. “I don’t know, Archie,” she said, taking the guitar from him and turning to place it in its case in the back seat. “You’re so talented, and, well, handsome. I think you really have a chance to make a career of this.”

“You really think so?” he said, astonished. Him? Scrawny Archie Andrews? “You think I’m handsome?”

She blushed lightly, a pretty pink that just darkened the delicate skin of her cheeks. “Has no one told you that before?”

He shook his head, looking down. His parents had called him handsome his whole life, but he figured that’s just the kind of lie parents tell. And working construction all summer, he hadn’t exactly run into a lot of girls. Or guys, he amended, thinking of Kevin.

“Well, you are,” she said, touching his arm again.

A cool breeze came in through the open windows, and Archie realized the light had dimmed. He looked out, seeing dark clouds rolling in. “Looks like it might rain,” he said.

“We need a good rain,” she said absently, stroking his arm. Her fingers felt like electricity and Archie, mortified, suddenly realized he was hard.

He was fifteen. Anything, and everything, got him hard lately, from the grotesque to the nonsensical – an odd noise in a nature program, hell, a stiff breeze. He felt out of control, and at times like this he felt almost disgusted with himself. Here Miss Grundy was just being nice, and offering to help him, and his stupid body had to go and take it the wrong way.

He had stiffened, tensed up all over thinking these things, and she rubbed his arm gently. “What is it, Archie, what’s wrong?”

Archie’s face was so hot, he was sure it was as red as his stupid hair. “Nothing, Miss Grundy, I should really go.”

“Please, Archie, we agreed on Geraldine.”

“Geraldine,” he repeated obediently. “But I was headed to Jughead’s and I should…”

At that moment the skies opened. With a crack of thunder, rain started sheeting down, so heavy they couldn’t see more than a few feet beyond the car. Rain rushed in the open windows, and suddenly they were both struggling to get them closed, Miss Grundy yelling about her instruments and sheet music in the back seat, both wrestling with the old crank handles.

When they finally got the windows closed, they were both wet, and somehow they were laughing, the tension in the car fled with the oppressive heat. The rain was so heavy that it was like they were alone, completely alone, almost like they were the only two people in the world. Archie, still chuckling breathlessly, looked over at Miss Grundy. Her dark blonde hair was damp, and tumbled over her shoulders, still spattered with rain drops. She’d always seemed so plain in class, and he hadn’t noticed her at all, but now, in the rain, he thought she was beautiful.

“What is it, Archie?”

“I, uh, I think you’re handsome too, oh, I mean, pretty. Really pretty.”

She smiled, and there was something different about it. She touched his arm again, but this time, she took his hand. He shivered. “That’s so sweet, Archie.”

And suddenly she was kissing him.

He froze for a moment. Archie had never really been kissed before. He’d tried to kiss Betty when they were kids, but she’d hit him and then chased him up a tree. He and Jughead had “practiced” a little, pressing their mouths together so they’d be ready for any girls that came along, but they hadn’t known to move, and kissing, they had decided, had seemed boring and pointless.

This was none of those things.

Her lips moved against his, and it was a feeling that went straight to the pit of his belly, a wash of heat. He tried moving a little, too, and then her tongue was in his mouth, and in a lot of ways it was like the time he’d stuck his finger in an electric socket but also not at all like that because it felt _good_ , and he was suddenly hard again, and he moaned or made some sound and she was licking at the seam of his lips until he let her back in.

She pulled back, and only then did he realize he was clutching at her shoulders, bare skin silky beneath his fingers. “Is this okay,” she asked, but it kind of wasn’t a question, not really; there was something about it that wouldn’t let him do anything but nod.

And she was kissing him again, and he pulled at her, not knowing what he wanted, but feeling absolutely on fire with it, and she turned and swung a knee around, nearly catching the steering wheel, and she was straddling him, she was in his lap and he could feel her tight curves in the circle of his arms and it felt amazing. His hips bucked up and she was pressing down on him and the pressure forced his erection up against the seam of his heavy work jeans and he heard himself _whine_ and his face was hot again with embarrassment but she didn’t pull away this time, just moving to kiss at his jaw, his throat, hitting a spot just beneath his ear that felt as good as jacking off ever had, had him throwing his head back against the seat’s headrest and the rain was so loud and she felt so good in his arms he was dizzy with it.

When she reached into his jeans he didn’t know how to ask her to stop. When she pulled off her own panties, he didn’t know how to express his fears, or ask her to slow down. She whispered how special he was the whole time, how talented and good and he wanted to believe it, wanted to be special and to be important to someone as pretty and talented as her. It was just like all those movies, or that song his dad liked, hot for teacher, or Stacey’s mom, or something. He was living the dream. He was lucky.

He felt a little strange about it, when she dropped him at home with reminders of their next meeting and how secret everything would have to be. And he understood. The secrecy had been his own idea, really, and he’d always loved music, she said he was really talented, so it was all worth it. And anyway she was hot, and he was so lucky that she’d noticed him, little Archie Andrews.

She’d left hickies on his neck. He tried to cover them, and his dad didn’t seem to notice – he’d been distracted since mom left, coming home late and leaving early, dragging Archie with him but not really talking about anything real, just football and construction and football – but the other guys on the crew noticed, teasing him good-naturedly and saying things like he was a real man now and asking about the girl he got lucky with. And Archie smiled and blushed and felt weirdly like he was being taken seriously as a fellow crew member for the first time, like they saw him as one of the guys and not as his dad’s irritating kid they had to babysit. He had to keep their secret, of course, so he said vague things about how pretty and nice she was. 

And when they got back to work, and he was alone in his head hauling heavy bags of concrete or holding up his end of a beam, his thoughts were less on how much he hated this work and more on her – the creamy white skin of her thighs, her head thrown back in ecstasy, the long line of her throat.

And as he thought about her, the images began to shape themselves into words. Just bits of phrases, at first. It felt like there was so much inside him, all of a sudden, and it was big, and confusing, and he didn’t really know what to think about it (he was lucky, right?) and all those feelings began to order themselves into lines he felt compelled to write down. His pencil working almost too fast over the paper, he scrawled out a couple of lines, You make my heart beat like the rain, Hold me deep beneath your waves. 

When he next met Miss Grundy he told her that he’d written her a song. 

“Archie, that’s so sweet,” she said, pulling him into her living room to sit on her plush, wide couch. “Sing it?”

He did, strumming a little hesitantly, singing in a low voice that didn’t quite hit the notes. “And every night my mind is running around her. Thunder’s getting louder and louder. All I need is to be struck by your electric love…”

She listened, really listened, her eyes intent and watchful. Afterward, when he was flushed and shy, she told him what a talent he had, and how thoughtful and insightful the song was, and along with her words she petted his hair and kissed him and said that such a beautiful song deserved a real thank you. And then they had sex. 

He didn’t really understand how sex could work as a thank you, but Miss Grundy was fairly convincing.

When he got a little excited about maybe showing it to his friends, or to his dad, she hesitated.

“What,” he asked, “what’s wrong?” Laying next to her, he felt a pang of doubt – had she ever meant it? Was it not any good?

“We’re just getting started,” she said, rubbing his arm, “and this is really good, Archie, really good, but we’ll want to workshop it, and improve it, right?” He nodded slowly, recognizing these words from English class, accepting her logic. She continued, “I can see how much potential this has – I just don’t want anyone else to discourage you if they don’t understand how writing works, that this is just a first draft.”

It wasn’t just a first draft. He’d been laboring over this for a week. But her words made a lot of sense to Archie, so he let it go, and they worked on his song for a while, rearranging things, working out a harmony, before she was pulling the guitar out of his arms and kissing him again.

They were meeting every few days, and any free time he now had, as his body became used to the heavy workload, was quickly taken up by the music. He still felt cut off from nearly everyone – and he knew that it was his fault, his friends had tried, he was just so tired and so busy all the time – but with the music it was almost like he wasn’t alone. He was thinking all the time, not about her, exactly, but about the mess of emotions he was feeling, that he thought of as something she brought out in him.

And he thought the songs he was writing might be good.

Miss Grundy kept telling him they were good, and the changes she suggested only made them better. He felt like he was really finding something in himself.

And there was the sex.

It seemed like she wanted it all the time, two and three times every time they met, and even when they were apart she texted things to him, sexy things, things that had him hot all day, thinking about her all day. 

If anything, he felt even more out of control than he ever had before. She said it was because he was so young, and eager, that he wanted it all the time and of course all guys wanted it all the time. 

He was always thinking about the music, and that always led back to her, and it all started to get confused in his head, the music, the way she made him feel special, and the sex, so that he started thinking about all of it in a messed up merged together soup that made him horny all of the time, like he was craving her. Like he’d gotten addicted to her.

It found its way into his song, and he found himself adding lyrics, trying to explain this feeling to himself, writing out, Candy, she’s sweet like candy in my veins. And baby, I’m dying for another taste. And writing it down, he got a little distance from it, saw the way it didn’t quite fit with the storm imagery in the other lines, thought maybe it was the start of a totally different song. Became something he could think about.

But the addicted feeling got worse anyway, and was exacerbated by the way he started to feel at night, sometimes. He was still sleeping heavily, worn out by the double punch of heavy physical labor and sex. But his sleep became uneasy, restless. Dreams had him waking hot and hard, and at first that was fine, he was hot all the fucking time and this seemed no different. He couldn’t remember the dreams, and jacking off was hardly a problem.

Over the summer days that passed, though, he slept less and less well, waking desperate for release most nights, in the hot, close dark, jacking off quickly and almost without pleasure, just so he could get back to sleep, and then forced to wake with his alarm, groggy and unsettled.

He showed up to one of his lessons tired, and unable to totally pay attention. He’d had a long day at the construction site, even though he’d gotten to leave hours before his dad, who thought he was getting rides home from friends, understanding Archie needed more time off than most of his guys because he was still young. So he had hours when his dad thought he was at home, and he’d taken to going by Miss Grundy’s house.

She always seemed really happy to see him, and excited to hear all his thoughts, no matter what they were about. Anything he told her, she listened intently, eyes fixed on his even when he couldn’t quite look back at her, nodding and making soft noises as he spoke. She didn’t offer a lot of advice, and he kind of liked that, after a while, thinking it meant she thought him mature and independent.

He confessed at one point that sometimes he felt like he couldn’t tell his dad how he was feeling, because he was worried his dad might not understand. She just nodded, and smiled at him gently, and he felt like she got it, like she got him.

On this particular day, when he yawned in the middle of a song, she had him stop, and asked him what was wrong.

“I’m fine, just tired,” he said, smiling a little wearily.

She took his hand gently, peering up at him with such sincere eyes. “Archie, you can tell me. You can tell me anything. You know that, right? I’ll never dismiss your feelings.”

He thought back to their conversation about his dad. Is that what she’d taken from his words, that his dad dismissed his feelings? He hadn’t meant that. Or was she saying that’s what she thought would happen, if he told his dad?

Archie didn’t think his dad would dismiss his feelings. But then, his dad had been busy since mom left. Really busy, and tired all the time. His dad might not mean to dismiss him, but Archie thought back to their last conversation – to their last several conversations – and he couldn’t remember the last time they’d spoken about anything of consequence.

“I can talk to my dad,” Archie said, but even he could hear how doubtful he sounded, how unsure.

“Of course you can,” Miss Grundy said. “But, well, you said he’s been pretty busy,” she prompted, squeezing his hand gently. “I’m never too busy for you, Archie.”

He smiled nervously, not sure how to answer that. She did text him a lot, and whenever he started feeling … odd, and ran over to her house, she let him in and listened to him and made him feel better. “I know that, Geraldine,” he said, her name still slightly awkward on his tongue.

“Because I care about you,” she said, and she seemed slightly closer than before. “Archie, this might sound strange, or sudden, but do you … do you ever feel like you’ve known someone your whole life?”

“Sure,” he said. “I’ve known Jughead and Betty my whole life.”

Her smile became something of a grimace, and he realized he’d disappointed her, but she seemed to reset. “No, Archie.” She moved closer. “I mean, have you ever felt like you’ve known someone before, even if you hadn’t ever really met them. Like you’d known each other in a past life.”

“Oh, like soul mates,” Archie said, remembering a movie he’d watched with Betty.

“Exactly,” she said, smiling, and he felt reassured, like he’d gotten the answer right. “Sometimes I feel like we must have known each other in a past life. Like we’re destined to be together.”

It had only been three weeks. But she seemed really sincere, and she looked at him with such shining eyes, and it felt really exciting, and, now that she said it, really romantic to think of their relationship on such a grand scale. 

He leaned in to kiss her, not realizing it was the first time he’d made the first move, and she ran her hands through his hair and he forgot his fears and his lack of real sleep, and when they had sex he thought of it as making love.

But he still wasn’t sleeping.

In the long, dark hours when he felt too tired to sneak out but too wired to sleep, he thought of his music, composing songs in his head, sometimes falling back asleep to the contemplation of chord changes and rhyme schemes, but sometimes getting up and turning on his small bedside lamp to do a little writing.

Betty would have noticed, had she been home. But she wasn’t, and Archie’s restless habits remained unnoted and undisturbed by anyone with incentive to help him.

In a way, Archie was glad to have the solitude. He was really getting into song writing, and coming up with ideas that he thought might be pretty good. Maybe even good enough to play in front of an audience. Well, an audience other than Miss Grundy.

He worked on songs sometimes until the sun came up, and then thought about them all day at the construction site. Things were fine. He hadn’t really talked to anyone other than Miss Grundy in a few weeks, other than to say hello or chat about the weather. But it was fine.

Betty emailed a couple more times, and he finally sent her a short reply explaining how busy and tired he was and promising to see her when she got back. She sent one last email after that, sweetly understanding – and it wasn’t that he’d lied, exactly, because he was tired and he was busy, but he’d never been too busy for his friends before and now here he was blowing off his best friend because he’d met someone. 

And the guilt was crushing him, so he did his best not to think about it.

The next thing he knew, he was getting his third paycheck, and that meant it was the end of the month, and that meant the Fourth was right around the corner and he hadn’t talked to Jughead in weeks.

He thought of the road trip, how excited Juggie had been. Staring down at his phone, he imagined texting him, asking if they were still on. He knew they were still on, of course, Jughead was incredibly dependable. But he was also incredibly perceptive, and Archie thought about spending a few days completely alone with Jughead, who would be eager to catch up after their weeks apart, more time than they’d spent apart since they’d met each other, who would want to know everything Archie had been up to – Juggie, he thought, who had always had time for him, before, and who always listened to him – and even with the guilt squeezing at his heart he couldn’t bring himself to type anything.

And then Miss Grundy called him, and they talked, and he didn’t mention the road trip but she said she could tell he was upset, and still tired, and proposed a Fourth of July picnic, a romantic day to themselves. And so it was decided for him, and he texted Jughead a thin excuse – he really wasn’t feeling up to it, but that was hardly the whole truth – and lost himself in Miss Grundy’s arms in the cool morning air down by the Sweetwater River.

And then they heard the gunshot.


	2. Chapter 2

If Archie had felt alone before, it was nothing to how alone he became after Jason Blossom drowned in the Sweetwater River.

When they heard the shot, Miss Grundy had panicked. Scrabbling for her clothes, she ran back to her car. He followed a little more slowly with the blanket and her shoes. She was visibly shaking when she threw the car into reverse and sped back into town.

“What do you think it was?” he asked.

But she just stared ahead at the road, her knuckles white where she gripped the steering wheel. When he asked again, she snapped, “It was nothing, Archie.”

“Then why are we running?”

“We didn’t hear anything,” she said, voice strained. “We weren’t there, do you understand?”

“No,” Archie said, frustrated. “Maybe it was just a hunter or something…”

“It isn’t hunting season, Archie,” she snapped, and when she said his name it didn’t sound like a caress, but a blow. “Can you sneak back in?” she asked, pulling over two blocks from his house.

“Yeah, I guess,” he muttered.

“Then go, and don’t talk to anyone about this.”

The way she said it, like it was so obvious, made him feel small, and stupid.

He got out slowly, and turned back to the car window. “When can I come over again?”

She stared at him for a long moment. “Archie, you can’t ever come back to my house. You have to forget this ever happened.”

He fell back a step. “What?”

“Don’t you get it? If anyone finds out that we had a relationship while I was grading you, you could be expelled for cheating, I could lose my job, we’d lose everything.” Her eyes softened as fear rocked through him. “Oh, Archie, this was so beautiful. But I don’t want you to be hurt.”

And she drove away.

He walked the two blocks home in a daze. He couldn’t seem to see the first stirrings of activity, cars moving past him like distant blurs. He snuck back in his window on autopilot, barely noticing the morning dew on the ladder, the familiar squeak of the window frame. He collapsed onto his mattress, and stared up at his ceiling for a long time. He still had his shoes on.

His heart felt like it had been scooped out of his chest, and he was all that was left, a hollow shell. Already his mind was casting the experience as a memory; their first touches in the rain became magical, the moments of songwriting a parade of nostalgia. He was crying, quietly, the tears running down the sides of his head onto his pillow. After a while it got harder to breathe, and he rolled over onto his side, curling up on himself as he really began to sob.

His dad didn’t call him down for breakfast, and while he was probably being thoughtful, letting Archie sleep in, it sent a pang of loneliness through him. He’d already lost his friends, and the love of his life, and even his dad didn’t care enough to see what was going on with him.

Part of him knew this wasn’t true, or fair to his dad, but part of him felt so completely alone that he couldn’t think straight.

He eventually fell asleep for a few uneasy hours, and woke to stumble downstairs where his dad was listening to the radio and making lunch. Nothing festive, since Archie had planned to be out of town for the holiday and had changed those plans so last-minute.

“Hey, Arch,” his dad said, glancing up at him. “You feeling better?”

He looked concerned, and that only made Archie feel guiltier. “Yeah, dad, I was just tired.”

Fred sighed. “If I’ve been working you too hard, son …”

“No,” Archie said quickly. “I can handle it.” After everything else he’d done, he couldn’t let his dad down.

Fred looked almost reluctant to believe him, but changed the subject anyway. “Well, uh, want to watch the fireworks tonight?” The town put on a big display every year from a barge in the center of the Sweetwater River. They closed down the bridge so people could walk right out to the middle, and just about the whole town would be there, bringing picnic blankets and enjoying the music and food and games.

Archie winced at the thought of all those people. “Maybe on tv?” he suggested. “I don’t, uh, really feel like going out.”

Fred looked slightly perplexed. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

Archie wanted to tell his father, then, everything that had happened, with Miss Grundy, and with the gunshot. He wanted advice, and his dad’s arms around him.

But just then, the radio broadcast was interrupted by the breaking news of the disappearance of Jason Blossom from Sweetwater River, possibly drowned, according to his twin sister, Cheryl. 

As the DJ spoke nervously, relaying Sheriff Keller’s statement and discussing the efforts to drag the river, and announcing that of course the fireworks would have to be canceled, Archie suddenly understood why Miss Grundy had been so terrified that morning.

What had happened to Jason Blossom probably hadn’t been an accident, and he and Miss Grundy were probably witnesses.

They would have to come forward. It was the right thing to do.

He would need to figure out how to break this to his dad, though. Once he got expelled, all his dad’s work to get him to college would have been for nothing. He really didn’t want to disappoint his dad.

Whatever impulse drew his dad to drive them down to the river drew half the town. Standing on the Sweetwater’s steep banks, working up the courage to approach Sheriff Keller, Archie caught sight of Miss Grundy. She was standing below them, a little closer to the water, and when he caught her eye she glared at him like she never had before and shook her head once, firmly.

It felt like a warning. Archie shivered, and his dad turned to him, concerned. Archie let Fred wrap an arm around him and draw him back to the truck – it wasn’t that he wanted his dad to worry, and he knew he couldn’t do this often, but it felt so good to have this concrete proof that someone cared about him.

But he knew that wasn’t fair, and spent the rest of the summer making sure his dad wouldn’t have to worry.

Having blown off Jughead, Archie didn’t feel able to contact him. So he didn’t. He didn’t contact Betty, either, just throwing himself into work and trying to do what Miss Grundy said – forget all about it. 

He couldn’t, of course. There was nothing else to think about at the construction site, he wasn’t allowed to try anything complicated or difficult, so it was just repetitive manual labor, stuff he could do without actually thinking about it. That left him thinking about Jason, which just spun up his anxiety to such a high pitch that he felt like he couldn’t breathe sometimes, so he tried not to think about it too much. And thinking about her was like torture. So he tried to pour it all into his music.

He thought about lyrics all day, and wrote all night in a notebook his dad had bought him for school but which he’d never used. It felt like the only thing he had, some days.

His dad noticed that something was off. He tried to ask Archie about it a few times, but Archie didn’t feel like he could say anything. Miss Grundy wanted their relationship to stay a secret, and she’d seemed so scared after the Fourth … he couldn’t betray her like that. Still, his dad tried, and when Archie wouldn’t open up, he took him to Pop’s a few times, let him order pizza, tried to make things special. Archie started to feel really guilty that he wasn’t able to open up, to meet the connection his dad was trying to make. 

When he tried to text Miss Grundy, he never received a reply. If he called, it went straight to voicemail, at first, and then to an error message. After a while, he realized that she must have blocked his number.

He knew it was his fault. He knew he didn’t deserve his friends, after blanking them all summer, and that he deserved to be alone. It just hurt. It hurt all the time, and the music started to seem like the only thing he had left.

Archie was not suited to isolation. He still wasn’t sleeping, and while he tried to focus on the music, thoughts of her would creep in, while he was working, while he was trying to fall asleep. He’d wake in a cold sweat, the strange, unremembered dreams leaving him hot, still, aroused, weirdly aroused all the time, but somehow mixed up with the gunshot and Miss Grundy’s words, all mixed up and putting a weight on his chest, blurring his vision and sucking the moisture from his throat.

Some nights he could turn these feelings into lyrics, and on those nights he wouldn’t go back to sleep but would stay up writing until the darkness of deep night turned to the dull gray of predawn, and then he’d go for a run, shower, and be ready to go to work by the time his dad started breakfast.

Other nights he couldn’t stand it. He was so horny all the time, and he’d wake up panting, already thrusting into the air, his boxer briefs damp with sweat and precome. And he’d jerk off quickly, roughly, still feeling weird from dreams he couldn’t quite remember, but wanting it too bad to resist, hating himself for it.

When he came, on those nights, it left him feeling out of control. Like he should be better than this. Like he was … gross. Pathetic. It left him feeling empty, and stupid. Whatever brief pleasure he got from coming, the horrible emptiness that followed made it seem like it hadn’t been worth it. He’d wipe himself off with his ruined underwear, and, still faintly sticky in a gut-wrenching way, curl up on his side and fall back into a restless sleep.

Those mornings, his dad would then have to wake him up, and Archie, groggy and almost drunk with broken sleep, would feel like he was disappointing his dad, Fred’s concerned eyes following him all morning, and hate himself even more.

On one of these sleepless nights, he snuck out and ran to Miss Grundy’s, knocking quietly but persistently on her door until she answered, her hair down, dressed in just a night shirt, and Archie’s whole being yearned for her. 

“What are you doing here?” she snapped, pulling him inside before the neighbors could notice. He let her, stumbling into her house like it held answers of any kind.

“I had to see you,” he panted, feeling like he was going to come out of his skin.

“You can’t come here,” she said, sounding impatient. “You must know that.”

“Please,” he said, “can’t we talk about this?”

He reached out for her arm, but she pulled back. “You have to stop being so selfish,” she snapped, keeping her voice low as if someone might overhear. “A boy is dead, Archie. Stop thinking about yourself.”

He shrank back, feeling cut by her words, absolutely skewered. “I, I didn’t, I didn’t mean—”

“Archie,” she sighed. “I didn’t mean that.” She took his hand, and her fingers felt cold in his. “You just have to understand. We can’t do this anymore.”

But she was pressing closer, and, still hurting, he started to pull back. But she put a hand on his cheek and drew him to her.

Afterward, he felt if anything worse than before. He walked back home, feeling a weird, twisting thing at his center, something heavy, like a clenched fist somewhere beneath his breastbone. He walked with a hand pressed to his sternum, trying to push the feeling down. He felt … wounded.

He didn’t go back.

He tried to stop touching himself altogether, but that was harder. It got difficult to talk to anyone, even just a hello became a nod, and his voice became a hoarse, unused thing.

After a few weeks of this, his dad, increasingly worried, pulled out his old vinyl collection and connected with Archie in the only way that he felt able to. 

And Archie was fascinated. His dad had been collecting for years, and there were boxes and boxes of records just waiting to be heard, Nirvana and Pearl Jam, Bush, Mudhoney, The Pixies, Jeff Buckley, Soundgarden, everything his dad had grown up loving, and older stuff, Bowie, Prince, Queen, Cream, Fleetwood Mac, it seemed endless, and he listened to all of it, absorbing the sounds and the ideas. His dad had meant for the music to bring them together, but really this gave Archie another place to run to when he was feeling down

It began to feel like the music was all he had. He was writing more than ever, and he was starting to be desperate for feedback, of any kind, just someone else to tell him that his ideas were good and his songs were working and he wasn’t useless.

So at the end of August, when Betty returned and proposed an evening at Pop’s, he was both excited and anxious.

He still didn’t know what to tell her, and almost didn’t know how to talk to her, or anyone. He sat on his side of the booth, too nervous to drink his milkshake, his hands hidden below the edge of the table twisting at each other, fidgeting and picking at his ragged cuticles.

Betty was luminous, and safe, and while she seemed to have her own point of nervousness, she chattered happily enough about her internship. He just had to ask a couple of questions and she was off.

He couldn’t quite pay attention. She was speaking, and he watched her familiar face, her eyes shining, but the words seemed distant, muffled things he couldn’t listen to. He put his hands up on the table top just so he’d stop picking at his fingers. 

She said something about how one summer could change everything, and he … he didn’t want to tell her exactly, so he told her about the music. How he’d been feeling on his dad’s job site, a little of it, and how composing songs made him feel … real.

But then she started asking a million questions. Would he ask Miss Grundy to tutor him, could he do music and football, had he talked to his dad. It was a little overwhelming.

And everything was distracting – cars in the parking lot, other people talking in other booths, people coming in and out of the door, bell jingling louder than he could ignore. 

He turned to see who was coming in, and it was someone he’d never seen before, a raven-haired girl in a cape, an actual cape, like something out of a story. Her dark eyes caught on his, and she came over.

It was almost too much, talking to so many people at once, but it was also kind of a relief, distracting them both from the fact that Archie had completely lost track of what Betty had been saying.

Archie nodded, and smiled, and was sure he’d said some things. He couldn’t have reported later what they’d talked about, and even in the moment he didn’t feel entirely like he was there. Or like he was outside of himself and not really involved in anything that was happening. He’d been feeling like that, increasingly, and wasn’t sure what to do about it.

The dark-haired girl left, and Archie turned back to Betty, a hollow boy playing the part of her best friend, and what else they discussed he couldn’t have said.

He walked her home and went up to his room and thought about school starting the next day and wanted to die.

Betty had said she wanted to hear his songs, in the hours they’d spent together he remembered that if nothing else, and he was getting nervous about that on top of everything else – he wanted someone to hear his music, but he had a lot of fears about it. What if he wasn’t any good? What if Miss Grundy had just been telling him he was good because she was being nice?

 

 

If his life had changed over the summer, walking into school the next day confirmed it. Scrawny Archie Andrews was no more, and people who had never even talked to him before were suddenly acting like they were friends, saying hi and complimenting his “mad gains” and inviting him to parties. Reggie squeezing his arm with one big hand and asking how much he could lift now, and if he’d tapped any cougar ass over the summer.

Archie didn’t know what to make of it. None of these people had been there for him before, had never been his friends. But it was nice to feel liked, and maybe even popular.

He tried approaching the Pussycats, hearing their voices from the practice room like a beacon in a music-less sea. But he was shooed away, pretty forcefully, and so, before heading to lunch, he cornered Miss Grundy and tried to talk to her. But she brushed him off, too. 

He still sat with Betty and Kevin at lunch, and shared his first song with them, watching Betty nervously for her reaction. She seemed to like it, and he was feeling a stir of nerves, hopeful nerves, as they both listened. 

Veronica seemed to creep up on them, and he closed his laptop defensively, cutting off the sound of his voice.

Before he could stop her, Betty revealed that it was his song. Archie felt himself blushing.

“I thought we were going to have to pretend to like it,” Kevin admitted, “but it was actually really good.”

“What I heard was amazing,” Veronica said, sitting down. “Is that your thing, music? Are you going to do something with it?”

“That’s the plan,” Archie nodded, but they started talking about Jason, and he zoned out. He was thinking about his music problem, and he thought he’d come up with a solution – well, Betty’s solution. Official, school-sanctioned private tutoring. The thing Miss Grundy had offered him to begin with. The thing he needed if he was ever going to get any better.

Miss Grundy at least listened to his songs, calling them real, and personal. 

But when he asked for tutoring, she said, looking down coyly, “I don’t think we should be alone together.”

“It’s not about that, it’s about the music. Just the music.”

But then he brought up the Fourth again, and even as he said it he knew he shouldn’t have. She closed off, and refused to help him, again. It seemed like for every door that opened, another closed. 

At tryouts, his new strength made the old maneuvers seem easy, and when his coach tossed him Jason’s jersey, and mentioned varsity, for a moment, it was his redemption from last year, he was finally making those dreams come true.

But his dreams had changed, and he found himself lying about working with his dad, an excuse to gain time for his music.

When he was caught, and his dad confronted him, he didn’t know what to say. He’d never meant to disappoint his dad, and it seemed like he kept doing it.

He was letting everyone down. He hadn’t seen Jughead since school had started, just in passing in the halls. Betty hadn’t said much about his silence over the summer, but she was also still oddly nervous around him, and he didn’t feel close to her anymore with all the lies he was telling, the secrets he was keeping. It felt like he didn’t have anyone.


	3. Chapter 3

Betty made the cheerleading team. They’d had parallel dreams at one time, and he remembered how crushed she’d been at Cheryl’s rejection the year before. So he was happy for her. And then somehow he was roped into taking her and Veronica to the back to school dance. Both of them. For a moment, it seemed like a solution to a problem he hadn’t even known about.

And Veronica called him Archiekins. And a tortured musical genius. He wasn’t so fond of the nickname, but the second thing was … nice. The genius part, anyway.

He hadn’t been with Miss Grundy for nearly two months, now, and he hadn’t talked to his friends, really talked, in much longer. In short, he was lonely. So lonely. So escorting both girls without being obliged to make a commitment, or a choice, seemed perfect.

Of course, once they arrived, it was clearly a trap. 

He knew by now that he’d changed over the summer, that people were attracted to this body of his, enough to overlook the stupid, selfish kid he really was. He just hadn’t thought Betty would fall for it. 

He cornered Miss Grundy, and insisted on the tutoring he needed in exchange for never telling anyone about what they’d heard on the Fourth. She gave in, and it felt like a triumph for a moment. 

They were slow dancing to a familiar song, covered by the Pussycats, and Archie was thinking it felt nice to hold her in his arms – not in a special way, exactly as nice as it had felt to dance with Veronica, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that – when Betty broke the silence. 

“Now that I’m a River Vixen, and you’re going to be on Varsity football, I have this fantasy of us as a power couple. Or even just a couple.”

Part of Archie froze. A power couple? What did that even mean? Something in him recoiled at the thought, though he wasn’t sure why.

He didn’t know how to answer, and was still thinking about it when they all went to Thornhill for a party, the first real party he’d ever been invited to. It was cool at first – the other guys on the team were there, and they were nice enough, passing Archie beer after been until he felt warm and relaxed and distant from all the awful questions that had been plaguing him. And the guys thought he was funny, laughing at his jokes, patting him on the back, slinging friendly arms around his neck. God, it felt good to be touched again.

It got late, and a few of them sat around a coffee table playing cards, and Archie felt the carefree warmth from the beer leeching away. Betty and Veronica were part of the circle, and they kept giving him looks he couldn’t quite decipher.

But it was still fine, not great, but fine, when Cheryl decided to play a different game, and somehow Archie ended up in a closet with Veronica.

It was too quiet in there, just the two of them, and Archie’s mind went relentlessly back to Betty’s words at the dance. A power couple. Like Jason and Polly? Had they been a power couple? And Jason … Archie had already taken his jersey, his place on the team – were people expecting Archie to take his place in the school hierarchy, too? Was that what Betty was expecting?

He tried to distract himself by talking to Veronica, who was, it turned out, funny, and smart. And she smelled really nice, and they somehow started talking about love, and when she stepped closer and pulled his head down it seemed the most natural thing in the world to kiss her back.

Her lips were soft, so soft, and his hand went around her waist, pulling her closer, and she felt really good against him. 

Just as good as Betty had felt, earlier, at the dance.

He pulled back, confused.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” she said, hand flying up to touch her lips.

Archie shook his head. “Betty,” he started.

“Oh no, I can’t believe I did this again,” she muttered, pushing out of the closet.

But Betty was already gone, Cheryl pleased as a bird-icidal cat at the chaos she’d caused, and Veronica insisted they split up to look for her. 

And it was under these worst of circumstances that Archie finally saw Jug again. 

Half-hidden behind his laptop, Jug sat alone at a booth in Pop’s and looked up when Archie wandered over as if Archie might be a threat. 

“Mind if I sit?” Archie asked, hesitating at the edge of the booth. But Jug invited him in, and watched Archie slide into the booth with eyes that seemed to track his every move. Mostly as a distraction, Archie asked, “What are you working on?”

“A novel,” Jug said, “about everything that happened this summer. The disappearance of Jason Blossom.”

“You write?” Archie asked, surprised.

Jughead seemed quietly pleased that Archie had asked. “Something I started over the summer. Thinking about what happened made me feel like someone should write about it. Why not me?”

“I think that’s great, Jug,” Archie said, smiling a little. “Can I read it?”

“Maybe when it’s done,” Jug said, closing off a little. Archie thought about how shy he felt about his songs, and understood.

“I’ve been writing, too,” Archie explained. “Songs, though, nothing like a novel.”

“Songs, huh? How very high school musical.” Jug waggled his brows. “Which will it be, Troy Bolton, sports or music?”

Archie frowned a little. “Both, for now.” He managed a laugh. “I guess it is a little clichéd.”

“Is that what has you wandering around town this late?” Jug asked then, and Archie had to explain what had happened at the dance, and then the party. “Ouch,” was all Jug said in response.

“That’s not really helpful,” Archie complained, though he knew he didn’t have the right to. “I just … I don’t feel that way about Betty, I don’t think. But I really hurt her.” He sighed. “I didn’t mean to.”

Jughead softened a little. “You never do, do you.”

Archie flinched.

“Just talk to her, man,” Jug said, looking down at his laptop’s screen. “Woulda gone a long way with me.”

“Yeah,” Archie said, taking that to mean it was too late. “I’ll just …” He gestured toward the door and, when Jug didn’t look up again, wandered back out into the night.

It seemed like it took forever to get back home. And talking to Betty didn’t go much better. She was crying, and it made Archie want to beat up whoever had hurt her. But he was the one who had hurt her. And nothing he said seemed to make it any better.

* * *

The next day, he tried to talk to Miss Grundy again. He couldn’t tell how he should feel about her, how he should feel about the summer. It was like adults explained how to feel about so many things, or provided models, anyway – how to feel about winning a big game, or getting a bad grade, or falling in love with a pretty girl. Well, a pretty girl your own age. There were a few shows that had a teacher and student falling in love, and it seemed romantic and sexy, a little forbidden but in a way that only made it more appealing. But what he felt for Miss Grundy didn’t … didn’t feel like that. It just felt painful to think about. 

When he tried to talk to her, she said it was real, assured him she loved him, reminded him that she felt as if they were soul mates. Pulled him into a hug. She felt fragile in his arms, and he held her carefully, and wanted to feel the same. 

When he got home that night, Jug was waiting for him, and confronted him with what he’d overseen – peeking in the door of the music room, Archie and Miss Grundy, inappropriately close.

Archie felt an immediate flush of panic, like a sunburn rising on his chest and back and face. 

But this was Jughead. His best friend, and even with the distance that had grown between them over this disastrous summer, he still trusted his friend.

“That’s not all,” he admitted. “We were together, on the Fourth, and we heard the gunshot that killed Jason.”

“Archie, man,” Jug said, sounding shocked. “You have to tell someone.”

Archie shook his head, frustrated. “We can’t,” he explained. “We’ll get in trouble.”

“What are you …”

“If people find out,” he said. “About, you know.”

Jug rolled his eyes. “She deserves to get in trouble!”

“That’s not true,” Archie said, feeling almost betrayed. “She doesn’t deserve that. She’s a good person.”

“Archie, a kid is dead, and you’re holding important information from the police!” Jug cocked his head to one side, his eyes sharp. “And I’m guessing she’s the one saying you can’t tell them anything.”

Archie couldn’t answer that. Couldn’t admit it was true. “Jug …”

“You know,” Jug said impatiently. “I used to know this kid. He wasn’t perfect, but he always used to try to do the right thing. Used to.”

Archie felt Jug’s rebuke like a brand, hot and stinging on his skin. It hurt so much because part of him knew that Jug was right – ever since Miss Grundy had turned on him, called him selfish and kicked him out of her life, he’d longed for her but also started to lose that glow his mind had put around thoughts of her. And looking at those memories was less like looking at the sun and more like being blinded by the lights of an oncoming car – overwhelming, a sense of panic, and an inevitable looming disaster.

But he could barely admit that to himself, and when Jug started talking about telling people, Archie panicked. 

“You can’t tell anyone,” he said urgently, stepping toward Jug. “Or…” And his thoughts started to spiral. She’d go to jail, he’d go to jail, the arrest would appear on his record and he’d never get into college or be able to get a job, if he ever got out of jail…

But Jug took his hesitation and panic as a threat, snapping, “Or what? What’ll you do about it, Andrews?” 

As if they weren’t friends. As if Jug thought Archie might try to hurt him.

Archie couldn’t say anything to that. His breath coming faster, he just watched Jug shake his head in disappointment and leave.

Archie stumbled into the house. His dad yelled “Hi!” from the kitchen, but Archie didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, making it up the stairs and into his room on feet he could barely feel. He fell onto his bed, wheezing a little.

A panic attack. He hadn’t had one in a while, but the familiar feeling was back, like a hand had closed around his throat, or like a weight had been placed on his chest and he couldn’t get a breath in.

He’d screwed up his whole life, and now Jug didn’t even like him anymore, and he was going to have to tell Principal Weatherbee about the Fourth, and the sheriff would figure out about him and Miss Grundy, and they would be arrested, and he didn’t want to go to jail, he really didn’t.

But maybe he deserved to.

* * *

The panic didn’t so much fade as weaken as he grew more exhausted. He went to class the next day with the panic on a low simmer, in the background of everything, just waiting for the chance to boil over. He felt weirdly distant from everything that was happening. Someone knew, and it was Jug, he could trust Jug, but Jug was mad at him and maybe that meant Jug would tell. The thoughts went in circles and seemed to hover just below everything else he was listening to so that he couldn’t focus on either.

* * *

Archie shoved Reggie, feeling crowded, but Reggie shoved back, hard, and suddenly his fist was lashing out. It caught Archie near the eye, a burst of pain, then Reggie shoved him again. His back hit the vending machine, shattering the glass with his head.

And he needed to protect Jug, but everything suddenly got very distant, as if it were moving further away and Reggie punched him. He went down, and Reggie was on top of him, and his arm drew back and

\--next thing Archie knew he was on the floor, surrounded by people he didn’t know. He jerked back, away from them, scrabbling until he was cornered against the sofa.

“Archie, Arch,” a voice was saying, a voice he knew, and Jug knelt beside him, hands extended as if to show him he was unarmed. “Archie, it’s okay.”

Archie was panting, and his head hurt. “What happened?”

Jug grimaced, scooting a little closer. “You got your ass kicked,” he said, voice dry as Archie’s throat, “protecting me.”

“Oh,” Archie said. “Sorry.”

Jug sat back a little. “What for?”

“Not doing a better job?”

Jug snorted. “It’s not your job, man. But, uh, I appreciate the sentiment.” He stood, held out a hand. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Archie let Jug pull him to his feet, then wished he hadn’t, his head throbbing and the whole room swirling around him so that he stumbled, almost fell. He grabbed at Jug, nearly brought them both down.

“Hey,” Jug said, alarmed. “You sure you’re okay?”

Archie stood still for a moment, gulping air. His stomach turned, and he squeezed his eyes shut, nodded. “Mmhmm,” he managed.

“Not very believable, Andrews,” Jug said. “I should take you to the nurse.”

Archie shook his head, then had to cling tighter as the move made the room whirl around again. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “Just get me to a bathroom.”

Their truce lasted as long as it took to clean Archie’s face, and then Jug said something sarcastic and left.

Archie soaked some paper towel in cold water and pressed it to the bruise under his eye. His head ached, and he still felt dizzy.

But holding on to Jug, sick as he’d felt, had been the happiest Archie had been in months.

He stumbled, slid down the wall to sit in the corner by the sinks. He felt unanchored, sort of, like he might just drift away. He thought there was something he ought to be doing, but he couldn’t think what. Everything sort of … grayed out, and he said huddled in the corner for he didn’t know how long, until the ringing of the bell startled him awake.

He groaned, feeling even worse. His legs had gone numb, and he pulled himself up shakily, squinting in light that seemed far too bright. He probably should have gone to the nurse at that point, or to class, but he stumbled home, and up to his room, and fell asleep for three hours.

By the time his dad got home from work, Archie felt a little more human, enough to change his bloody shirt and put some ice on his eye.

His dad asked if he’d gotten into a fight with Jug, and Archie bristled at the idea that Jug would ever hurt him. He’d destroyed their friendship, but he still had that deep well of faith that Jug wouldn’t hurt him like Reggie had.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archie's friends start finding out about Miss Grundy, and things don't exactly go well.

He tried to stop thinking about Miss Grundy. But memories still crept in, and he felt like he was moving through his life in a daze, barely present, drifting through his classes and past his friends. His every waking moment was filled with music. Lyrics comprised most of his thoughts. Melodies took over his brain, and demanded voice, to be heard, until he’d worked them out on his guitar. He was just a shell filled with songs and, after he’d played a few for his friends, and received praise rather than pity, he clung to that. At least he was good for something.

He’d been getting a lot of attention this year. From the football team, cheerleaders, and fans, of course, but also from teachers, who seemed more patient and solicitous than they’d ever been before, and from other kids in school, who never used to pay him any mind. 

And when he overheard three senior girls arguing about how hot he’d gotten, he realized what had happened. He wasn’t any more likeable, or intelligent, or talented. It was this body they were interested in. And he still felt like he didn’t fit in it sometimes, he’d changed so fast and in such isolation, it was like he was a passenger riding around in a newly upgraded meat suit. He caught himself starting down at his own hands, sometimes, and they didn’t always look like his hands.

As days passed without a response from Miss Grundy, he began to get the feeling that maybe she’d really only been interested in this new body, too. If she really thought he was so talented, wouldn’t she fight to get him the training he needed? 

That’s when he realized that all of it had been his fault. This body, these muscles, they were fooling people, tricking them into thinking he was strong and talented and cool. When really, he was just a liar, and a coward, like his dad said. 

Somehow, in the midst of all this self-loathing, the music came even faster. It was like a compulsion, and he lost hours to it.

After football practice he’d run home and go straight to his guitar. Instead of memorizing plays, he vomited forth all the new sounds and words that had filled his head on the field. 

On one of those afternoons, he was working on a song that was about her. His hands still ached from practice, but his fingers were delicate on the strings, pressing them so gently to the frets. It felt like a gentle song, yearning. “Baby, you’re like lightning in a bottle, I can’t let you go now, but I gotta …”

“That’s getting pretty good,” a voice said.

Archie yelped, fumbled the guitar in a jangle of strings, and looked up to see his dad leaning in his doorway and laughing at him.

“Dad,” he said reproachfully, “you startled me.”

“Sorry,” Fred said, still laughing but trying to hide it. “I just don’t get to hear you play much.”

Archie fidgeted for a moment. “What did you think?”

Fred hesitated, and Archie held his breath, waiting for the verdict. “It sounded real good, son. Real good.”

Archie deflated a little. “But?”

Fred took a step into the room. “But nothing. I think you sound great.” He paused, sighed. “Do you think this’ll get you to college, I guess is what I’m wondering.”

Archie frowned, eyes falling. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“I need you to, son. You’ve got to think about the future. Understand?”

Archie nodded, though he didn’t really see himself at college – in truth, he never had. Betty and Jughead were smart, Veronica, and Kevin, they’d be going to college. Archie couldn’t see the point, for himself. Even if he could get in, and find a way to pay for it, everything would be wasted when he inevitably flunked out.

But if his dad could see music as a potential career path, then maybe Archie could, too, and for that to work out he really needed those lessons. 

So the next day at school he cornered Miss Grundy and didn’t back down until she gave him what he asked for. It was in the form of hideously early tutorials, but he’d take it, he’d take anything if it meant improving his songs. They were all he had.

* * *

Jughead Jones was homeless.

Archie looked into the dark supply closet beneath the stairs, horrified. And when Jug admitted that he’d been homeless since June, Archie’s self-hatred redoubled. He’d been such an idiot, and he’d left Jug dealing with this on his own.

He made Jug move in with him immediately, but even helping Jug spread sheets on the air bed didn’t quite soothe the twisting pain in his heart. He’d been such a bad friend.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked again as they got ready for bed.

Jughead shrugged. “We weren’t really talking.”

“Don’t,” Archie started, shaking his head. “It is my fault, but.” He sighed. “Make me listen, next time. I want to be there for you.”

Jug paused, setting down his laptop and really looking at Archie for the first time since they’d entered Archie’s small room. “It’s not your fault,” he said, voice a little odd.

Archie blinked. “Yeah, it is. I left you hanging, I was a bad friend.”

Jug’s brows creased, and his mouth made a sort of slanted, unhappy line. “Arch, it’s not really that simple. Yeah, you were busy over the summer. But I could have told you what was going on.”

“Exactly,” Archie said, feeling relieved. “So tell me next time.”

Jughead nibbled on his lower lip thoughtfully. “I feel like we aren’t actually agreeing, here.”

“Sure we are. You’ll tell me if you’re in trouble, and I’ll be a better friend.”

“Alright, fine, pact accepted.” Jug held out a hand, and Archie took it, a little confused. They shook, and then Jug said, “As long as you promise you’ll do the same.”

Archie let go of Jug’s hand. “What do you mean?”

“If you’re in trouble, tell me.”

“Is this about Miss Grundy? Because that’s over, we’re really just talking about music.”

Jug looked skeptical. “And nothing’s going to happen? Ever?”

Archie looked down. “She, uh.” He fell back onto the bed, and spoke to the ceiling. “She says what she feels is real. That we’re real.”

“But?”

“But nothing. I … I care about her. And she cares about me.”

“Why do you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself?”

“That’s, that’s not.” Archie glanced at Jug, couldn’t quite maintain it. He chewed on his lip for a moment, and when Jug just waited, patient, Archie asked, “Do you, um. Do you know what the sentence is for sleeping with a teacher?”

“The what?”

“The, uh, the prison sentence.”

“I don’t know, Mary Kay Latourno got thirty years I think.”

Archie sucked in a panicked breath. “Thirty years? I’d be … forty-six before I got out.”

“Forty-five, and what? You? Archie, I mean for her. For the teacher.”

“Oh, wow, that’s …. Well, how much for the student?”

“What are you talking about, man?”

“If we tell anyone about this summer, we could go to jail,” Archie whispered, ashamed to put this burden on his friend.

Jughead laughed, but it wasn’t a nice sound. “Is that what she told you?”

Archie nodded.

“Arch, she lied to you. You would not go to jail for sleeping with a teacher. She would go to jail for corrupting a minor, or something.”

“She didn’t corrupt me. Did she?” He looked down at himself, as if he could see the corruption, worrying that everyone else could see how corrupted he was by looking at him.

“Oh, that’s. Ignore the word. The point is, she’s the one who is doing something wrong. Something illegal.”

Archie squinted at him. “That doesn’t make any sense. What’s illegal about loving each other?”

“Um, you’re fifteen.”

“Almost sixteen.”

“Right. And there are laws about how old your, uh, sex partners I guess, can be until you’re seventeen. It’s illegal for an adult over twenty-one to have sex with a child under the age of seventeen in this state.”

“Why do you know that?”

“It seemed really relevant to a friend of mine,” Jug said, his voice prickly.

“I’m not a child,” Archie said, picking nervously at his cuticles.

“Legally you are! Legally we are still children, Archie!”

“But I wanted it, so that means it’s okay, we can talk to the sheriff and explain about this summer.”

“You’re not getting it, Archie. It does not matter what you wanted, she shouldn’t have touched you. Ever. At all. Because you are not old enough to consent.”

“But.”

“Not old enough!”

“So if we’d just waited a couple of years ...” Archie said miserably.

“I … yeah, pal. That’s the problem here.” Jug flopped back, a sigh gusting out of him like the air out of a collapsing tent. 

“Are you mad at me?” Archie asked, voice small.

“No, bud, not at you.” Jug sighed again. “You just … got taken advantage of, and it upsets me I couldn’t protect you.”

“That’s exactly how I feel about the homeless thing, Juggie.”

“Okay, okay, no secrets from now on, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And you get this consent thing, right? No having sex with adults, at all, until you are an adult.”

“Right.” Archie was quiet for a minute. “What about someone like, uh, Ronnie, for instance.”

“Jeez, yes, that would be fine, Archie, that would be … legal, or whatever. Didn’t your dad ever have the talk with you? Mine did, even though he really didn’t need to.”

Archie thought back to the one time his dad had talked to him about sex. “Of course he did. You have to stay safe, and make sure she wants it, and don’t keep her out too late, and don’t pressure her, and be a gentleman.”

“Archie …” Jug said slowly. “That applies to you too, you know. Your partner should make sure that you want it, and that you’re not feeling pressured.”

Archie made a slightly derisive noise. “Guys always want it, Jug.”

“Um, no? They don’t?” Jug waved a hand in a vague gesture that seemed to encompass the whole room. “I don’t.”

“What?”

“As a for instance. I don’t. Want it. Ever.”

Archie frowned at Jug, feeling a little lost. “What do you mean?”

“Ugh, my point is, this societal bullshit about guys always being horny and wanting sex is just that, bullshit. You don’t have to have sex with everybody that offers, you get to say no if you want.”

“So you don’t want …sex?”

“Don’t get hung up on that, okay? Just, repeat after me. I don’t have to say yes if I want to say no.”

“I’m not repeating that.”

Jug flung a pillow at him. “Say it!”

“Alright!” Archie laughed, catching the pillow. “I don’t have to say yes, or whatever.”

“Close enough.” Jug paused for a moment. “Gimme my pillow back.”

“I’m not sure I want to,” Archie said, feeling a little playful now that the stressful part of the conversation seemed to be behind them.

“You jerk, hand it over!”

“Fine,” Archie said, tossing the pillow in a gentle arc toward Jug’s face. 

Jug let it land, and made a sound like he’d been shot, sending Archie into gales of laughter.

“You’re a good friend, Archie,” Jug said later, when they were both on the edge of sleep and the room was dark and safe enough for secrets. 

Archie didn’t entirely believe him, and didn’t respond before falling asleep.

* * *

But then Betty found out about Miss Grundy, somehow, and when she confronted him in the parking lot at Pop’s, Ronnie found out, and the sudden exposure hit Archie like a body blow. When Jug had talked everything had seemed fairly clear, but when both girls started yelling at him, claiming to be concerned, part of him shut down. Betty was so mad at him. He clenched his fists, so hard that the wrist he’d hurt in practice throbbed in its ace bandage. He was letting everyone down, and while he wasn’t scared of going to prison anymore, much, he was still scared of what might happen if his dad found out. 

“Please,” he begged both of them, “please don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to get her into trouble.”

“Archie …” Betty said, torn.

“She deserves to get into trouble,” Ronnie said, spitting mad, her dark eyes flashing in the neon lights.

“I’m sorry,” Archie said, crossing his arms.

Jughead’s arrival was like a rescue. “We should continue this conversation in _not_ the busiest place in town,” he said, scowling at the three of them and then all around the parking lot as if looking for eavesdroppers.

“Can we not talk about it at all?” Archie pled, backing up a step.

Betty said, “Archie, you shouldn’t keep this a secret,” touching his arm.

He took another step back, and Jug caught Betty’s arm when she would have followed him. Archie stammered, “It’s over, do we have to talk about it, please.”

“Totally over?” Ronnie said, crossing her arms too but in a way that was less defensive than militant. “No backsliding?”

He nodded miserably.

The girls looked at each other, exchanging thoughts he didn’t catch, and Jug stepped toward him, into his space. But Jug was always in his space, so it didn’t really register. “We should go home,” Jug said, sort of herding Archie away from Betty and Ronnie, who were now whispering fiercely.

“Jug,” Archie said anxiously, taking a step to follow him but pausing.

Jughead broke into their argument. “You’re not going to tell, right?” 

Ronnie gave him a look very close to Cheryl’s usual venom. “Not if Archie doesn’t want us to,” she said crisply.

“Please don’t,” Archie interjected.

“We won’t,” Betty said, but she looked very unhappy, and guilt pierced Archie as he and Jug walked toward his house.

“Betty seemed mad,” he said after a few quiet blocks, Jug slouching beside him.

“Not at you, man,” Jug reassured him. “I promise, none of us are mad at you.”

“Feels like it,” Archie whispered, barely able to admit it to himself.

Jug threw an arm over his shoulders, the move slightly awkward due to their nearly matching heights. “We’re mad at her, as we should be. What she did to you was wrong, man.”

Archie walked silently for a block or so. “I’m not sure that’s better,” he finally said.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want you guys to be mad at her, either. We … we did this thing, and I’m just as much to blame.”

Jug sighed, and pulled into himself a little. “I thought we talked about this.”

“I know what you said, and … and I get it, I can say no. But I didn’t, so. So that’s my fault, not hers.”

“Okay, okay, that’s.” Jug shook his head. “That’s not the point. At all. Whether you said no or not, whatever you said, it was on her to do the right thing, the appropriate thing.”

Archie sighed. “I don’t want to argue about it, Jug.”

“Arch …” Jug said helplessly.

Archie walked a little ahead of him the rest of the way, not purposefully cutting him off, but feeling oddly tender and open to criticism. Jug walked silently behind, not trying to catch up, hands in his pockets. 

When they got back to the house, Archie paused before they went in, and said, “I’m sorry, Jug. I just … I can’t keep talking about it. Please?”

Jug’s expression softened, and he nodded.

Archie breathed a sigh of relief, and they went in together.

* * *

He retreated to the bleachers at lunch, trying to get a little time alone to think and to work on his songs. His wrist was hurting a little, and he opened and closed his hand a few times, flexing it as he stared down at his incomplete song. Our lives couldn’t ever come between us. Sometimes the dreamers finally wake up. Don’t wake me, I’m still dreaming. He frowned, unsure what should come next.

Betty sat next to him, abruptly, her tray balanced on her lap. He looked up, saw Kevin and Veronica on the row above them. Ronnie had a mischievous look on her face, and, munching on fry, she leaned forward and asked him how life was PG – “Post-Grundy,” she said archly, looking between him and Betty. “What, too soon?”

Archie looked back at his notebook, kind of wishing they hadn’t found him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jug helps Archie out with a problem, and Archie goes to Ronnie for answers.

Archie woke suddenly, his wrist throbbing, and so hard he couldn’t keep his hips still. Jug shifted softly on the air mattress, and Archie bit his lip, clutching at his pillow to keep his hands from creeping downwards. He couldn’t stand this. His whole body hummed, and he turned over restlessly.

He hadn’t been able to get off since he hurt his wrist in practice, and it was becoming unbearable. After a few more minutes of tossing and turning, he got up, stumbling a little in the dark. In the bathroom, he fumbled out of the ace bandage Ronnie had wrapped around his battered wrist and climbed in the shower, hoping that the warmth and white noise would help him relax.

He tried at first with his right hand, but it could barely close around his length, and the first pull sent pain like a knife through his wrist. So he propped it against the wall, and, burying his face in the crook of his arm, tried to come.

His left hand was like a stranger’s, clumsy, and doing everything wrong. His left couldn’t keep a rhythm, jerking harshly where he preferred a smooth slide, and the whole enterprise seemed backwards. Twenty minutes later he was hard enough to drill ice, and no closer to coming. He was sore, and when he realized he was crying, he gave up.

He shut down the water, climbed out and, in a fit of frustration, threw a washcloth across the room. Soaked from the shower, it hit the mirror with a thwap, and slid down it with a squelch and a squeak. A laugh broke through the tears, and Archie hugged himself. He was so pathetic, and selfish.

There was a knock on the door, and Jug’s voice, muffled.

Archie wiped his face and get a towel around his waist, cracking the door just a bit. “Sorry, you need the bathroom?”

Jug squinted at him a little in the bathroom’s bright light. “No, just came to see if you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” Archie said.

Jug took in his red eyes and the hectic flush at his cheeks, and raised a brow. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Archie insisted, shifting the towel around his waist.

Unfortunately, that drew Jug’s eyes down, and they widened at the sight of Archie’s cock, thick and hard through the fabric of the towel. “Man, I’ve heard of edging but aren’t you taking it a little far?”

Archie stepped back, flushing, and tried to cover his erection with the towel. “What? What does that even mean?”

Jug’s head tilted, taking in Archie’s tense shoulders, the way he was holding his bad wrist. “You aren’t doing this on purpose,” he realized. “Are you, um, having trouble?”

Archie looked down, and nodded miserably. His face felt so hot, a burning heat, shame like a crushing weight in his chest. “Just, just go back to bed, okay? I won’t bother you, I’ll just—”

“Just what?” Just asked, crossing his arms.

Archie shivered, looking down. He shrugged.

Jughead sighed. “Look, do you, uh.” He huffed a breath. “Do you want a hand?”

Archie glanced up, startled. “What?”

Now Jughead was blushing. “Just, you know,” he said, and made a jerking off motion.

“Oh my god, Jug,” Archie said, and went if anything redder. But he was still painfully hard, and he fidgeted with the edge of the towel, his hand so close to his cock he could almost feel it. 

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” Jug said, frowning awkwardly. “Just, you know … you won’t get any sleep like that.”

Archie rubbed a hand across his face. “I haven’t been,” he admitted. “For a couple of days.”

“Jeez,” Jug said, blinking. He paused, cocked his head to one side. “I’m not, uh—”

“Gay? I know.”

“No,” Jug said, irritated. “I’m ace.” At Archie’s look of confusion, he clarified, “asexual. I don’t want to have sex with anyone, guy or girl.”

Archie blinked. “That’s, uh, really? That’s a thing?”

“Yes, Archie,” Jug said, not too patiently, “it’s a thing.”

Archie looked away nervously. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.” He shuffled a little. “I’m fine, I’ll be fine.”

Jug sighed. “That’s not what I’m trying to tell you. Just … I wanna help you, man. But … no touching, I guess.”

Archie’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “Are you sure? This seems …”

“Can you get off on your own?” Jug asked, raising one brow.

“No,” Archie allowed. 

“Then come on,” Jug said, turning back toward Archie’s room.

Archie followed a little more slowly, clutching the towel a little more closely about him. Nerves sparked in the pit of his belly, along with excitement.

When he entered the room, Jug was just closing the curtains, sending another shiver of nerves through him. “Where, uh, should I …”

“On the bed,” Jug said, moving a little restlessly around the room. “You have any lotion?”

“Oh, yeah,” Archie said, blushing again as he dug through his desk drawer and handed Jug the half-empty bottle. He sat on the edge of the bed, timidly, still clutching the towel, only the burning need keeping him from running and hiding.

“You’ll have to lose the towel,” Jug said, sounding slightly amused, and detached.

Archie licked his lips again, nerves sucking all the moisture from his mouth and throat. Looking down, he pulled the towel from around his hips and tossed it to the floor. And he was naked, and felt his own nakedness, and imagined he felt Jug’s eyes on him, an electric feeling that churned at his gut and made his cock somehow even harder. He felt almost dizzy with it, this sudden vulnerability.

“Wow,” Jug said, “that looks like it hurts.”

Archie bit his lip, couldn’t quite meet Jug’s eyes.

“Lay down, Arch. It’ll be okay.”

Archie gulped a breath, reminded himself he trusted Jug, and scooted up the bed to rest against his pillow.

Jug knelt beside the bed, squirting some of the lotion into his hands and rubbing them together. “Just, this is really important. I need you not to touch me.”

Archie nodded, and to make sure, raised his hands up above his head and clutched his pillow case. The familiar smell of the lotion filled his nose, and his hips lifted a little.

“Ooh, second thing, buddy. No moving.”

Archie’s eyes flicked to the side. “I’m not sure…”

“I don’t mean totally. I’m a realist.” Jug rolled his eyes. “Just … don’t startle me.”

“Okay,” Archie said, breath getting a little faster. “I can do that.”

And then Jug’s hand was on Archie’s cock, and part of Archie’s mind went away.

His hips strained upward, and Jug’s hand was big, bigger than he’d realized, and broad, warm on his cock and slicked by the lotion worked a smooth rhythm that Archie’s left couldn’t manage. The feeling went right through him, drawing the muscles at his core tight with need.

“Is it that good?” Jug asked, not sounding interested, exactly, but curious, clinical.

“Mmhmm,” Archie moaned, tossing his head back and arching up into that beautiful, sure hand. “’s good, Jug.”

“Huh,” Jug said, adding a twist at the top that made Archie clutch at the pillow, neck straining a little at the struggle not to reach down and touch warm skin and his chapped lips that still looked soft, so soft.

“Jug,” he panted, “please.”

Jug nodded, and sped up a little, keeping the little twist at the end, and it felt good, so good, even with how sensitive he was it was such a relief and the feeling was building in him and he was so close and it was so good and Archie tossed his head to the side, bit at the fabric of his pillowcase, hips straining up, and came.

Jug held his cock gently until it softened, so gentle and considerate Archie felt a swell of tenderness behind his breastbone. After a minute, Jug let go, and wiped his hand on Archie’s discarded towel. There was a slightly distasteful look on this face, and, even blissed out as he was, Archie felt a pang of worry shoot through him.

“Jug?” he said, voice a little slurred. “You okay?”

“Yeah, man,” Jug said, in the clearest lie Archie could remember him telling. “I’m fine. Are you … better?”

Feeling a little cold, Archie scrabbled for the sheets and pulled them up over his nakedness – less oddly, gut-twistingly pleasurable now he wasn’t hard, more just … awkward. “It was awesome, Jug, thanks.” He paused, looked down. “Thank you.”

Jug snorted. “Kay. Get some sleep, buddy. I’m just gonna … wash my hand.”

Slightly mortified, Archie curled up in bed, facing the wall so he wouldn’t have to watch Jug leave and return. Part of him started to worry about what had happened – but most of him was suddenly, deliciously relaxed, for the first time in longer than he’d admitted to Jug, and he fell deeply, peacefully asleep.

He woke the next morning to his alarm, eyes opening to dim sunlight, clocked by the closed curtains, and a feeling of intense well-being. His body was slightly heavy with sleep, and immensely relaxed.

When he remembered the reason for that relaxation, however, he tensed, all over, and glanced at Jughead.

The other boy lay still on the air mattress, but his eyes were open, his face nearly expressionless.

“Hey, Jug,” Archie said nervously, sitting up.

“Regretting last night?” 

Archie scrambled to answer. “No! No, not at all!” He glanced down. “Um, are you? Regretting it?”

Jug’s eyebrow quirked up. “Not if you’re feeling better, man.”

Archie nodded, flushing. “Great, yeah.”

“Then it was mostly worth it.” After this pronouncement, Jug stood and grabbed a clean towel from Archie’s closet. “I’m taking first shower, though.”

Archie figured that was fair. He owed Jug, for so much. And this, he couldn’t pay back.

Or so he assumed. Pulling on a pair of boxer briefs, Archie got out his laptop and powered it up. There was a chat notification from Betty, but it was from last night, and another from Ronnie – it was just a few minutes old, so he wrote, hey, as he navigated to google and searched for asexuality.

The first result was from a dictionary and seemed to be more about plants, and fission. He scrolled down, though, and there was the thing Jug had described: noun. A person who does not experience sexual attraction.

Archie sat back, a little frustrated. That was just … vague, and not really helping him understand his friend any better. 

In the chat window, Ronnie was asking if he wanted to walk her to school. Archie had a thought – she seemed very experienced in these matters, worldly in a way kids in Riverdale just weren’t. Sophisticated. Maybe she would know about ace people.

It was only once they were walking together, enjoying the unusually mild weather, that Archie brought it up.

“Hey, Ronnie, do you know anything about asexuality?”

“Archie Andrews,” she said, squeezing his arm. “Are you trying to come out to me?”

“No,” Archie said, startled. “No, I just, uh, heard about it, and didn’t really get it, I guess. I thought you might know more about it.”

“And why would I know so much more about a lack of sexual attraction?” she asked archly.

“I didn’t mean, I just, I thought—”

“Relax,” she laughed, “I’m just teasing.” They walked quietly for a moment. “Well, as I understand it, there’s a spectrum.”

“A spectrum?”

“Yeah, a range of feelings. Some people are completely repulsed by even the idea of sex, some just don’t find it very interesting and don’t want to bother with it, and some are happy to make their partner happy, even if they don’t get much out of it themselves.”

“Huh,” Archie said, trying to apply one of those labels to Jug. “Isn’t it kind of, I dunno, like using someone? If they’re just doing it to make you happy?”

Ronnie looked at him with an expression he hadn’t seen before. “That was a very thoughtful question,” she said. “Well, I’m not ace myself, and I suppose it could be exploitative to have sex with someone who won’t enjoy it. But I think you also have to let people make up their own minds. If you’ve discussed it, and agreed, then I suppose it feels … insulting to discount their agency by assuming any contact would be taking advantage.”

“Right,” Archie said, still a tiny bit confused. But he and Jughead had definitely talked, and he’d made sure to follow Jug’s rules, so that probably meant he hadn’t used Jug, or done something Jug didn’t want.

He saw Jug at school, of course, and it was fine, it was good, both acting like nothing had changed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jug and Archie start to talk about their sexualities.

He saw Cheryl vanish beneath the ice, and forgot everything else. Plowing through the knee-deep snow, he scrambled to the hole in the ice. The water beneath the ice was fast and black, no sign of Cheryl anywhere. He shouted to the others, and they all spread out, clearing snow away from the ice, none of them dressed for the unexpected weather, searching frantically for the least flash of red.

Archie saw her, or thought he saw her, just a smudge of color and he flung himself at the ice, running his hands over the solid surface, searching for a way in but there was nothing, not a crack or split, and he knew he needed a way in, pulling his arm back and slamming his fist into the ice.

It hurt. God, it hurt. But he could see Cheryl down there, so he hit the ice again, and again, harder, again. Something in his hand popped. He yelled, hit the ice again, slamming down both hands against and again, the pain worse each time, and there was a crack, and for a moment he couldn’t tell if it was the ice or his hand, hit again and he was through, reaching into water so cold his hands immediately went numb. It was almost a mercy, but he couldn’t feel Cheryl, got his fingers tangled in her long hair and used that to get her above the surface, so that he could grab her arm and pull her up onto the ice.

He patted her face with numb hands, didn’t get a response and, fumbling, started CPR. Her lips were cold, cold as the ice, as the river, and he forced breath into her until he was dizzy, kept going.

Her chest heaved, and then she was coughing water and he sat back on his heels, gulping air.

The others stumbled forward, hands touching his back and his hair. The ice creaked beneath them, and he scooped Cheryl up in his arms and staggered through deep snow toward the river bank, holding Cheryl on his forearms, his hands like blocks – he couldn’t really feel them, couldn’t close his fingers on Cheryl’s form or make a fist.

Once on solid ground, Archie stumbled, his knees going wobbly and pitching him onto the ground. He fell, and tried to roll to protect Cheryl, and fell on his side, knocking all the air out of him.

“Archie?” Jug asked, kneeling beside him and touching his shoulder. “Arch, can you keep going?”

Archie groaned. Everything felt a little strange. Distant. He was shaking. “Mmmhmm,” he murmured; gathering himself, he got to his knees, got Cheryl back into his arms, clutching her close to his chest, and staggering up onto shaking legs. She moved, a little, her hand clutching weakly at the front of his hoodie.

The girls hovered near them, and Jug raced ahead, carving a path through the snow. Archie followed it, and his vision narrowed down to the trail of flattened snow, his whole world narrowed down to the next few steps, then just the next step, everything else falling away, Cheryl cold and still in his arms. Ronnie touched his shoulder, steering him gently, Betty on the other side trying to take some of Cheryl’s weight.

The walk back to the edge of the woods seemed to take forever, and also no time at all. Ronnie must have called for help. Archie didn’t notice it, didn’t notice much beyond the cold, but when they stumbled out onto the road nearest the river, Smithers was waiting with a long black car.

Smithers helped Archie get Cheryl into the car, and Archie fell in after her, Ronnie following him in and closing the door behind them. Archie didn’t notice; he was panting with exhaustion, his hands held in front of him, awkwardly, fingers partly curled into an agonized claw shape. Betty and Jug crammed themselves in the front seat, and Smithers drove them to the hospital.

He faded in and out a few times. He would never remember everything that happened.

“C’mon, man,” Jug said, pulling on his arm. Archie went with him, standing on shaky legs. He felt strange, and clung to the side of the car while Jug and Smithers helped Cheryl into the hospital. Betty stayed with him, and then Ronnie returned from somewhere and each took one of his arms and they led him into the emergency room. Cheryl was on a gurney surrounded by nurses, and Archie watched them fussing at her as he was led deeper into the room, to a curtained off alcove, not turning his head until he lost sight of her.

“You okay, man?” Jug asked, and to Archie it was like he’d appeared out of nowhere and he startled, pulling back. Ronnie lost her grip with a small yip, and Betty clutched at him, fingers digging into his other arm, and he pulled away from that small pain, his hands held before him unmoving like claws. The right was swollen now, twice as large as the left, both bloody and throbbing in time with his heart.

“Woah, there,” a man’s voice said, and a white-coated doctor grabbed Archie’s free arm before he fell. “How are we feeling?”

“His hand is broken,” Ronnie said anxiously. “I think he’s in shock.”

“Okay, let’s take a look,” the doctor said jovially, helping Archie up onto a gurney of his own. He sat there, and swayed a little. The doctor took Archie’s right hand, the swollen one, into both of his, and moved it a bit, asking Archie, “Can you make a fist?”

Archie couldn’t, and the attempt hurt.

The doctor made a sort of ‘hmm’ noise, and said something to the others.

“I’ll call his dad,” Betty said, leaving the room.

He wanted to tell her to stay, but was too slow, she was gone. Ronnie and Jug stood by, worried, as the doctor asked him a few questions that he answered, but wouldn’t later be able to remember answering, and then said something about X-Ray and left.

Archie crumpled slowly onto his side, not feeling in pain, exactly, but just very, very tired. Jug and Ronnie crowded in, and Jug started petting his hair, a familiar gesture. Archie made a contented sound, starting to fade out.

“Stay awake, Archie,” Ronnie said, rubbing his arm. “How’re you feeling?”

“Sleepy,” he whispered, his eyes fluttering closed.

“C’mon, Arch, sit up,” Jug said, trying to help him.

The doctor and a few nurses came into the room then, the nurses wheeling a machine toward them. The doctor helped Archie, and had him put his hand beneath the machine. It had a screen on the top, and he could see his hand in it, his bones. “Wow,” he said, and tried to wiggle his fingers. “Like Superman.”

The doctor chuckled. “Yeah, a lot of people say that.”

“How’s his hand?” Jug asked, edged back by one of the nurses.

“I can’t tell you any more than you already know unless you’re family.”

“Is okay,” Archie said, “you can tell them. Is my brother, and my girlfriend.”

“Well, it is broken,” he said, pointing to a few places on the screen. Archie looked at his hand, and the way some of his bones didn’t line up any more, two of his knuckles pushed to the side in a grotesque fashion. His stomach turned, and he went white.

“Okay, lay on down,” the doctor said, helping him stretch out on the gurney. “Let’s get this set, and once the swelling goes down we can get a cast on.”

“How long will that take?” Ronnie asked, concerned.

“Oh, a few hours.”

“Archie!” His dad said, coming into the alcove at a fast clip. Betty was beside him, and the space started to feel too crowded. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“’M okay,” Archie slurred, turning his head and feeling the pillow thin and flat beneath his cheek. 

“He was amazing, Mr. Andrews,” Ronnie said. “Cheryl fell into the river and Archie punched through the ice to get her out.”

“My god, Arch,” Fred said, taking his less damaged left hand and rubbing the back of it gently. Archie smiled up at him weakly, blinking, then again, having to drag his eyes open. “Doctor, how bad is it?”

“Three fractured metacarpals, and two dislocated knuckles,” the doctor said briskly. “He’ll need a cast for approximately six weeks, and then some physical therapy, but he should recover well.”

“Oh, thank god.” Fred sighed. “That was so brave, buddy.”

“Thanks, dad,” Archie whispered. He looked around, brows creasing. “’s Cheryl okay?”

“I’ll go check on her,” Ronnie said, patting his arm and exiting the room on brightly clacking heels.

“Okay, we’re going to give your son a local anesthetic for the pain, and then we’ll set the bones, and once the swelling goes down we can get a cast on, okay?”

“Oh, I don’t need anything for the pain,” Archie murmured, “it doesn’t hurt.”

The doctor sort of chuckled. “It will, son,” he said, and patted Archie’s shoulder before turning back to Fred. “Is that acceptable, Mr. Andrews? Can we continue?”

“Yes, of course,” Fred said, “whatever you need to do.”

Another nurse came in, wheeling a cart, and started setting up needles and plastic tubing and Archie lost track of things for a little bit. They moved him a little to get the needle into a vein at the crook of his elbow, and he felt the pinch of the needle, but not much else after that.

* * *

End of semester exams were coming up, and then Christmas break. Coach Clayton had been nice about his broken hand, once he’d heard the story behind how it had happened, but they were both hoping it would be healed up by spring. Even without practice, his life became a whirl of studying, preparing for the winter formal, and trying to help his dad at the business.

And then Jug kissed Betty.

Lying together in the dark, on separate beds, as if they’d never touched, Jug spoke into the space between them, shyly, as if confessing.

“I kissed Betty.”

Archie didn’t know what to say at first. He looked over at Jug, and could just barely make out his shape in the dim street lights. “Um, okay?”

“Okay? That’s it?”

“Well, I mean, why?”

Jug moved restlessly. “I’m not really sure.”

“You said you weren’t interested in sex, I thought.”

“I know,” Jug snapped. “I can still date, I’m not …”

“Oh, I didn’t mean, of course you can. I guess I don’t …”

“And anyway, I like kissing.”

“Oh,” Archie said, a little startled. “I didn’t realize.”

“That I might want to be touched?” Jug’s voice was a little bitter.

“Well, I mean, you said. When we,” Archie fumbled, feeling his face heat, glad Jug wouldn’t be able to see. “No touching. That was.” And he realized. “But that’s because it was me, right, you’re not into guys.”

Jug sighed. “That’s not …”

“No, I get it, it’s cool, so you guys kissed. Are you dating now?”

“Did you want to kiss?”

Archie was silent for a moment. “It would be asking too much.”

“Are you?” Jug sat up. “Archie, are you attracted to guys? To me?”

Archie rolled onto his side to face Jug, propping his head on his arm. His heart was beating a little faster, but in the close dark of the room, it felt more like a confession. “I dunno,” he said quietly. “I like girls, but, uh. Guys too, I think.”

“Wow,” Jug said. “Archie Andrews, bisexual.”

“Is that? Bisexual,” he said thoughtfully. “So that’s a thing.”

“Yes, Archie,” Jug said, sounding fond. “That’s a thing. Huh, you’re bi, I’m ace. Makes you wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

“Nothing, just. You ever wonder about the girls?”

Archie thought for a moment. “I guess I haven’t, but did you hear about the cheer tryouts?”

“I’m not exactly hooked into school gossip.”

“They kissed. Betty and Veronica. The whole team was talking about it.”

“Wow.” Jug paused. “I should probably find that hot, according to most movies.”

“I guess that’s what I don’t get,” Archie said. “Why would you be interested in kissing Betty, or, uh, helping me, if it doesn’t do anything for you.” Archie looked down. “I guess I feel like I took advantage.”

“Hey, I get plenty out of it,” Jug huffed, flopped down to lay on his back. “I get closeness, and the pleasure of making a friend feel better. I enjoy being close to people I care about. I just … don’t want sex.”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, just, you know. I don’t get it, exactly, but … I can understand that.”

“Well, same. I don’t get your thing, but I can understand it.”

They were silent for a moment, then Archie asked, “So you are dating Betty?”

Jug sighed. “I’m not sure. We were talking, she was upset, I kissed her. It seemed like the thing to do.”

“Did you like it?”

“I think so. It was … kind of wet. Her lips were soft.”

“Do you think you’ll do it again?”

“Maybe,” Jug said, a little shy, a little sullen. “I don’t know if we’re dating, we didn’t … talk about it.”

“You probably should,” Archie said, rolling onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling, blinking sleepily. “She might think it meant something.”

“You think?”

“Mmhmm,” Archie murmured, fading out.

* * *

They lay in the dark, not sleeping. Archie stared up at his ceiling, the faintly visible shadows created by the street lights. 

“Do you, uh,” Archie started, voice low and hesitant. “You told Betty you loved her?”

“Yeah,” Jug said, sounding defensive.

“How did you, um, how did you know? That you loved her?”

“What do you mean?”

“I just, um, like, I love my dad, and you, and Betty, I love you guys. How, um, what’s the difference?”

“Well, I love you too, man,” Jughead said, and his voice was a little lighter with good humor.

“Thanks,” Archie muttered, nerves twisting his gut.

“The difference?” Jug said. “Well, with Betty, I wanna be around her all the time, be close to her, um, kiss her.” Jug paused. His next words sounded a little embarrassed. “You know how I feel about … other stuff.”

Archie nodded. Jug had explained to him what asexuality meant, and how he didn’t want to have sex with anyone.

“But yeah, Betty is special.”

Archie frowned a little, his heart sinking as each criteria was added. He wasn’t hearing anything to differentiate his feelings for Veronica from his feelings for Jug, for Betty. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Makes sense,” he lied.

“What’s this about, Arch?” Jug asked. “Are you having problems with Veronica?”

“No,” Archie said, a little desperate to end this conversation he’d started. “Everything’s fine, she’s great.” He was a piece of shit who wanted to ruin every relationship in his life, but Ronnie was really great to him. By Jug’s definition, he loved her. The problem was that, by Jug’s definition, he also loved his two best friends. He was pretty sure that counted as cheating. “What, um, what if you feel like that about more than one person?”

Jughead was silent for a moment. “Archie,” he said slowly, “you can’t cheat on her.”

“No, wait, I’m not …”

“If you love someone else, you have to tell her.”

“But I think I do love Ronnie,” Archie said, stomach twisting.

“Then what are you saying?”

“Nothing. I don’t know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Jughead sat up, and Archie couldn’t look at him. “You have a great girlfriend, man. Don’t throw that away because of some crush.”

“I’m not, I won’t, can we just, can we drop it? I don’t feel very well, can we just go to sleep?”

After a pause, Jug said, “Sure, buddy,” and Archie heard him laying back down. They didn’t speak again that night. Archie lay there, frozen, paralyzed by the realization that there was something really wrong with him.

* * *

Betty walked them to school the next morning, arm and arm with Jug. Archie walked a few steps behind, watching them, in a way trying to understand them. Jug had confessed, smiling shyly, that he’d kissed Betty. And Betty seemed so attached to him now, chatting with him intently and resting her head on his shoulder for a few steps. But Jug had also told Archie that he was asexual, and Betty had seemed like she wanted to get this attached to Archie just a few months ago. 

He didn’t understand any of it, that was his problem. Or maybe he’d misunderstood what Jug meant, or Jughead was right last night, it was wrong to like more than one person, so Betty must have stopped loving him when he’d hurt her, and started loving Jughead. And that was okay. It had to be. He’d never be good enough for either of them, even if sometimes he wished he could be. 

Veronica met them at school, and she was beautiful and supportive, and he was crazy about her. He’d screwed up so badly with Valerie. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Veronica to his own stupidity. Jug must be right; there was something wrong with Archie. He’d just have to do his best to hide it.

He’d lost track of their conversation, and Ronnie turned to him, concerned. “Everything okay, Archiekins?”

He smiled, putting one arm around her. “Yeah,” he said. “Just figuring something out.”

Betty and Jug were happier together, anyway. He’d just screw everything up.

“You can always talk to me, you know,” she offered, sounding hesitant.

“Thanks, Ronnie,” he said, hugging her a little closer. “It was just something Jug said, no big deal.”

“See you after practice?”

“Sure thing.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archie and Betty talk about Jughead, and Archie, worried about his dad's safety, goes to Reggie for something to keep him awake.

Ronnie pushed his head down, both hands in his hair. Archie kissed her stomach, her tiny belly button, the soft rise of her mound. She sighed, said, “Archie,” admonishingly, pushed a little harder. He nosed down between her folds, lapped at her juices. She tasted sweet, a little musky, and he licked, hard, with the broad flat of his tongue, until her thighs tensed and her fingers tightened in his hair.

“Oh, that’s good,” she sighed, and her nails cut at his scalp. She was just getting wetter, and he nudged at her clit with his nose, making her back arch, and the long muscles in her thighs tense and quiver. “Oh, that’s so good, right there, please.”

He closed his lips around the stiffening nub and hummed, and she made a sound like a laugh had been punched out of her. He pulled back a little, licked the taste of her off his lips. “Was that okay?”

She smiled down at him. “Archie, that’s amazing. Keep going.”

He returned the smile, and moved gently back into place.

“Just a little to the right,” she murmured, and he found the spot. She gasped, “Yes, there,” and her hands flew up to grab at the pillow, and the headboard, her hips coming up off the bed. He caught her thigh with one hand to keep her in place, and pushed two fingers into her hole, and it was tight and wet, soft walls fluttering around him as pleasure spasmed through her.

* * *

“You and Ronnie,” Betty said slowly.

Archie raised both brows in question.

“You’ve … had sex, right?”

Archie laughed uncomfortably. “Why are you asking?”

She flushed a little. “But you have?”

“I don’t think I should talk about it,” he said, stalling. “Don’t kiss and tell, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not asking for details, Archibald.”

He winced as she full named him.

“I just … this is a real relationship, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Archie said, a little defensively. “Of course it is.”

“So, have you guys had sex?” Her eyes were a bit pleading, and as usual, he caved.

“Um, yeah, Betty. We have.” Archie couldn’t quite meet her eyes, and when she blinked back tears, he panicked a little. “Oh my god, Betty, I didn’t mean, I’m so sorry.”

She sniffled. “You don’t have to be sorry,” she said, and managed a small, slightly pitiful smile. “I was just asking because …” she took a breath. “Jughead and I haven’t, yet, and I wasn’t sure if that was, well, normal.”

Archie’s heart sank. “Betty …”

“I mean, he said he loves me, Archie!” She was crying now, just a bit. “And I said it back. But every time we, you know.” She blushed, a pretty pink, like one of her sweaters. “He never wants to go any further.”

“Betty,” he said again, helplessly.

“Am I not pretty?” She interrupted him, clenching her hands into too-tight fists. “Is he just humoring me?”

Archie took one of her hands in his, and held it gently. “Betty, you should talk to Jug about this,” he said, working her fist carefully until she relaxed, and let him pull her fingers apart.

“I can’t do that,” she protested.

“I think you have to,” he replied, taking her other hand. This one went a little quicker as her tears slowed. “Just, you know, tell him how you feel.”

“Do you know something?” she asked, suspicion creasing her features. 

Archie looked away. “Betty …”

“Then just tell me,” she pleaded.

He shook his head. “Talk to Jughead,” he said again, pulling back.

“Archie …” Her mouth twisted with frustration, but then she sighed. “I guess you’re right.

He shrugged, still looking down.

“Thanks, Archie,” she said, and left.

Knowing what he did about Jug’s declaration that he was ace, and sex-repulsed, and not okay with much more than kissing, if Archie was remembering it right, he wasn’t sure how their conversation would go. Maybe he should warn Jug. He pulled out his phone, and opened a chat.

After five minutes of staring at the empty text box, he closed the chat, biting his lip. What would he even say that wouldn’t freak Jug out, and make Betty’s questions worse?

Ronnie slid onto the couch beside him, and he startled, dropping his phone.

“Oops,” she said, catching it for him. “You seem jumpy.”

“Uh, maybe a little,” he said, shifting as she cuddled into his side, feeling her warmth against him. He relaxed a little, melting into her. “Tough talk with Betty.”

“Oh no, what about?” Veronica frowned. “And why didn’t she come to me?”

“Uh, it was about Jughead,” Archie said, stiffening a little. “And I, I mean, we’ve known …”

“Yes, yes,” she interrupted, “you’ve been friends forever and I’m just the interloper, the outsider.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Archie said, throat going dry.

“No, I know, Archiekins,” she said, patting his arm, and he was able to relax again. “I just feel so … on the outside of your little group, sometimes.”

“We don’t mean to make you feel that way,” Archie murmured. “We’ve known Reggie forever, and he’s not part of the group like you are.”

“Aw, Archie.” She kissed his cheek, then pulled his head around for a real kiss. He leaned into her hand, and opened when she licked at the seam of his lips.

After a moment she pulled back, and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’ve just never really had a best friend like Betty. I was, you know, a heinous bitch in my previous life, so this is my first time having real, close friends. I just want to get it right.”

“Betty’s still your friend, even if she talks to me about some stuff.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right,” she said, still sounding disgruntled.

“Maybe you should have a girl’s night.”

She straightened up, so fast that he jumped a little. “That’s brilliant! Full spa day, mani-pedis, facial, massages ...”

“Or just a sleepover?”

She paused in her elaborate planning. “Too much?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Right,” she said, biting her lip. “Sleepover. Romantic comedies, doing our own nails, popcorn. I can do that.” She stood, gathering up her purse and jacket. “Plans to make and implement. See you after practice?”

He nodded, and watched her leave, hoping he’d given her the right advice.

“You really are a walking disaster,” a voice said from across the room.

Archie twisted around and saw Cheryl, who had been hidden by the high back of her chair. “What?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Archiekins.” Her perfectly painted lips twisted into a slightly cruel smile. “You are allowed to say no.”

Archie’s brow furrowed. “I know that,” he said, confused.

“Of course you do,” she said, but as if she didn’t believe him. “I need you to act as my escort again, please.”

Archie froze a little. “Oh, I, uh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Isn’t your mom still upset about the last time?”

Cheryl sighed, and stood up. “And if I said I needed you for that very reason?”

Archie bit his lip, thinking. “Cheryl…”

She laughed, a fake, brittle noise. “If you don’t want to go, Archibald, just say so.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to help you …”

Cheryl huffed. “I was making a point, Andrews. You can say no.”

And she stood there expectantly.

“Um, no, thank you?”

Her smile seemed just a touch realer this time. “And thus endeth the lesson. Now shoo, Archiekins. You don’t want to be late to class.”

The bell rung just as she finished, and Archie grabbed his backpack and left, mind whirling.

What had that been about, he wondered, and why had Cheryl seemed so concerned about him – in her own way, of course. He could only think that she must still see her brother in him.

After the last time he’d done Cheryl a favor, he’d lost Val, so he was glad this had just been a lesson. He and Ronnie hadn’t been together for all that long, but he really didn’t want to lose her.

* * *

After his dad got shot, he stopped sleeping.

That first night home, every shadow seemed to hold some danger, every movement startled him so badly that it felt like his heart just never had a chance to calm down.

After he’d tried to drive Ronnie away, and failed, she’d held him while he cried. But he couldn’t seem to cry after that. Everything felt like it was too much, and he felt like he was on the verge of breaking down at every moment. But something wouldn’t let him. So dry-eyed and wound tight he remained.

A little after dark, as he was thinking Ronnie might leave, Betty and Jug arrived with bags and a stack of pizzas. They stayed up with him, all piled on his mattress, so close he almost felt safe.

But he couldn’t sleep.

They left him one by one, falling into sleep. He kept watch, part of him tense and cold even with his friends so close.

They next day, Betty’s mom drove him to the hospital to see his dad and get his ruined cast replaced.

As they cut away the sodden, blood-stained plaster, his hand emerged, stained yellow, already slightly withered. Like it belonged to someone else.

Even after they’d put on a fresh, white cast, he couldn’t shake that feeling, like his hand wasn’t entirely his own.

His dad didn’t wake up that day. Archie stayed until the nurses kicked him out, and to his surprise, he was greeted at the hospital’s entrance by his mother.

“Mom!” He grabbed her in a tight hug, and she held him just as fiercely.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said, pulling back to look at him. Her brow quirked, and she petted his hair. “You are okay, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, mom, I’m fine,” he lied. “Visiting hours just ended.”

Her mouth set in a familiar, determined line. “I’ll just peek in on him, get an update, and then we can get you home.” 

It felt a little like a weight had been lifted. And when they did return home, Ronnie was there, and she’d obtained a whole meal, from somewhere. The house was filled with light, and warm smells, and Archie hugged her close.

“Did you make all this?” he asked, amazed.

“Ah, no,” she admitted. “I have many talents, but none of them lie in the culinary arts.”

“Still, this is amazing, thank you.”

“It was a very sweet gesture,” his mom said. “Veronica, was it? Archie’s told me so much about you, and of course I saw you perform with the Pussycats, you’re a very talented young lady.”

“Well, thank you, Mrs. Andrews.”

“Right, sorry,” Archie said belatedly. “Mom, this is Veronica, my girlfriend.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Ronnie said, the perfect diplomat. “Even under the circumstances.”

“Likewise,” his mom said, smiling. “Well, we should eat, before this beautiful meal gets cold.”

Ronnie actually blushed at the praise, and they sat around the small table and managed to have a surprisingly pleasant conversation. Well, Archie mostly picked at his food, but the conversation between his mom and Ronnie was interesting enough that he was a little surprised at how much he did eat.

But Ronnie had to go home, after, picked up by Smithers on behalf of a slightly paranoid Hermione, and it was just him and his mom.

“She’s a nice girl,” his mom said as they did the dishes, her washing, Archie drying, careful of his cast.

“She’s the best,” Archie said, wishing she’d been able to stay. “How long can you stay?”

“Oh, Archie.” She was quiet for a minute. “Until your father can get around.”

Archie knew the answer wouldn’t be ‘forever,’ but part of him was disappointed anyway.

He was too old to climb in bed with his mom. So he didn’t, and didn’t sleep that night, feeling lonelier than he ever had.

* * *

“I can’t pay you,” Archie said, looking down. “We don’t have a lot of money, with the hospital bills and all.”

“I got you,” Reggie said, smirking a little. He pulled out a few brightly colored sticks. “Want to fool around a little?”

Archie looked at the pixie sticks, at Reggie, licked his lips nervously. “Sure, okay.”

Reggie’s big, square hand caught the back of his head and pulled him into a kiss. Startled, Archie stiffened a bit. Reggie gentled his touch, licking at Archie’s lips until Archie relaxed and opened to him. Reggie’s fingers were tangled in his hair, tugging at it sharply, little movements that sent sings down Archie’s spine. He leaned into it, raising tentative hands to Reggie’s shoulders to brace himself. His cast slid on the smooth leather of Reggie’s jacket, and Reggie pulled back a little to struggle out of it.

Heat spooled in Archie’s core, and he pulled off his sweater, leaving just his thin T-shirt. The cool air felt good on his overheated skin. Reggie made an appreciative sound and dove back in, thrusting his tongue into Archie’s mouth, licking at his teeth and demanding to be let even further in. his mouth tasted sweet, like candy, pure sugar-rush, and Archie pulled back a little. “Are you high?”

Reggie grinned, his eyes bright and wild. “You want some?” When Archie hesitated, Reggie rolled his eyes and said, “You should test the product, you know?”

Archie finally nodded, and Reggie made an L-shape with his thumb and forefinger and poured a little of the powder on the webbing of flesh between them. He held that out to Archie, and with an awkward motion Archie ducked his head and licked the powder from Reggie’s skin.

Reggie pulled him in for an immediate kiss, chasing the taste of the drug down Archie’s throat. The drug hit like a spreading warmth. Archie moaned into Reggie’s mouth, and pulled at his shoulders. Reggie shifted, and pulled Archie into his lap, shifting Archie so that he was straddling Reggie’s muscled thighs. They were still kissing, deep and wet, and Archie pressed against him, brushing against Reggie’s hard length.

Even within the warm embrace of the drug, this caused Archie to pause. He pulled back, licking the sugar-sweet taste from his lips. “We’re just, uh, making out, right?” he asked nervously.

“Yeah, of course,” Reggie said easily, running his hands up and down Archie’s sides soothingly. “Strictly first base.” Then he quirked a brow. “Maybe second?”

Archie nibbled on his lower lip uncertainly. “I’m not great at baseball. Is that?”

Reggie rolled his eyes again. “Some heavy petting, over clothes only. I wouldn’t say no to a hand job, though.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully.

Archie shifted nervously, but went when Reggie pulled him back in.

The drug made everything languid and warm, and he was so hard that Reggie’s idea started to sound better and better the longer they kissed. But at the same time, just the touch was so delicious, he didn’t want it to end, didn’t really care if he came, just wanted to luxuriate in the feeling of skin on skin.

Reggie’s fingers found his hair again, and Archie moaned at the feeling, letting Reggie pull his head back. Reggie bit at his neck, and Archie whined, pressing himself against Reggie’s solid warmth. He tried to hold on to Reggie’s neck, but his stupid cast kept surprising him. He slung his arm over Reggie’s shoulder, instead, baring his neck to Reggie’s lips.

“Maybe, uh,” Archie panted, pushing against Reggie. “Maybe a, a hand job would be, uh, okay.”

“Oh, just okay,” Reggie said, only mocking him a little, tugging at his hair to get to the other side of his neck, mouthing at the corner of his jaw.

Archie tried to press closer, feeling restless, like he wanted to be closer than close, like he would merge with Reggie if he could, crawl inside of his skin. “You said, uh, you wanted one, right?” And Jug had given him hand jobs before, and he didn’t even like sex, so a hand job must not be a big deal.

Reggie pulled back a little, held Archie still. “I was mostly kidding, Andrews. We ain’t gotta do nothing,” he said, carefully, as if to a wounded thing.

“Okay, okay,” Archie said, ducking his head to plant a sloppy, good-natured kiss on Reggie’s slightly parted lips. Reggie grinned into the kiss, and they went back to making out. Reggie grabbed his ass, squeezing the muscle and Archie pressed happily against him, pleased to revel in the sensation without expecting it to go anywhere.

After half an hour or so, when Archie’s lips were numb and tingling, and Reggie’s hair stood up like he was cosplaying Edward Scissorhands from Archie running his fingers through it, Reggie pulled back, and said, “Okay, Andrews, I need to get moving.”

Archie sat back on his heels, feeling unaccountably disappointed. “Yeah, okay.” He ducked his head, feeling sort of shy. “Uh, thanks.”

Reggie snorted, and pushed him off so he could stand up. Trying to smooth down his hair, he gathered up his jacket and pulled out three sticks of jingle jangle. “Like I said, Andrews, I got you.”

Archie took the drugs from him and watched him leave, then locked the door and flopped back down on the couch. He was still painfully hard, and he knew by now that jacking off with his left wasn’t going to work.

Well, he needed to be awake, and, if nothing else, this would certainly keep him from sleeping.


	8. Chapter 8

Stripping out of his boxer briefs, Archie sprawled out on his bed, pressing his face into his pillow as Jug climbed between his legs, tapping his thighs a bit to get him to make room. Archie wrapped both arms around his pillow, hugging it. There was a fluttering ball of nerves at the pit of his stomach, and he squirmed a little, pressing his cock into the soft sheets.

Jug put a hand on his ass, just testing the waters. It was cold; Archie shivered, and they both laughed a little, Jug saying, “Sorry!” and then Archie heard him rubbing his hands together to generate some warmth.

“It’s okay,” Archie said, glancing back over his shoulder. “You just surprised me, is all.”

“Oh,” Jug said, still rubbing at his hands. “I could talk more? Describe what I’m doing?”

Archie thought about Jughead’s voice describing the things they’d talked about trying. A flush crawled over his cheeks, hot, and he hid his face in the pillow and, voice muffled, said, “That’d be good, Juggie, thanks.”

There was humor in Jug’s voice when he replied, “Alright, then, I’m going for lube.”

Archie could hear that, the distinctive sound of the lid clicking open, the squelching sound of the lube. The tension in his belly ratcheted up.

Jug seemed to sense it, putting one hand on Archie’s back as a sort of comfort. With his knees, he nudged Archie’s thighs apart a little more, and Archie let himself be spread open, feeling hot and vulnerable beneath Jug’s gaze.

“I’m going to touch you now,” Jug said. And he did. Archie felt a light touch, firm and slick right against his asshole. He stiffened a little, and Jug’s hand rubbed at his back, and his fingers moved in little circles against Archie’s hole, not trying to get in yet, just pressing, and after a moment it started to feel good, really good. “This ok?” Jug asked.

“Yeah,” Archie managed, the sound a little stuck in his throat.

Jug kept to the same steady circular motion. It seemed to travel through Archie’s body, as if vibrating outward, or inward, and Archie’s hips tilted up to meet it and he felt the tight knot of his hole relax, and unfurl. Just the tips of Jug’s fingers pressed against his softened entrance, blunt and square, and Archie felt it like a spreading warmth in his belly.

“Good, Archie,” Jug whispered, “that’s good.”

The praise went through Archie, a spreading heat, and he relaxed a little more into it. Jug kept up that circling pressure, and as Archie opened to him, one slim finger slipped inside, rubbing against the sensitized nerves around his rim. Archie moaned, and Jug slid the finger a little further inside. “Good?” he asked, and Archie could only nod his head, scrubbing his hot forehead against the pillow. As Jug went deeper, that fluttering feeling in Archie’s belly got tighter, and a wave of sweat prickled across his lower back and behind his knees. 

And then Jug said, in a tone of abstraction, “This is kinda gross.”

Archie froze.

The sweat that slicked his back turned cold, and his shoulders tried to pull in, as if he could hide. Jughead’s fingers inside him felt suddenly strange, and he wished they’d never started.

Jug must have felt him tense up, because he started babbling. “Crap, sorry, I didn’t mean _you_ were gross, just, uh …” He paused, huffed out a breath. “You know how I feel about this stuff. Bodies, and, and, stuff.” And he wriggled the fingers still inside Archie cajolingly. “It was going really well, though yeah?”

Archie was sure his blush would be visible from space. He could feel it hot in his face, rolling over his shoulders and down his back. They’d talked about Jug’s limits, but now it felt strange that he couldn’t see Jug, that Jug was still fully dressed while Archie was completely naked. Archie felt that sense of vulnerability roll over him again, but it wasn’t a good feeling this time.

“Do you want to stop?” Jug asked.

Archie realized he was shivering, and his erection had wilted. But he didn’t want to make Jug feel bad just for saying how he felt. “No,” he managed, breathing mostly pillow at this point. “We can keep going.”

“Okay,” Jug said slowly, pulling back a little. Archie whined, and Jug said quickly, “Just getting some more lube, not going anywhere.”

“Okay,” Archie said, panting a little. The nerves in his stomach were like a hard knot, and he tried to force himself to loosen up. Jug was rubbing at his hip again, and went back to that steady, firm circling pressure on Archie’s hole without dipping in, and slowly, Archie let himself relax back into it.

“Didn’t mean to insult you,” Jug was murmuring, and even now the sound of his voice, and the touch of his fingers, was enough to get Archie hard again. “You’re beautiful like this, man. Uh, aesthetically speaking.”

Archie hugged out a laugh, pushing back against Jug’s fingers. “Okay, I get it, come on. You don’t have to sweet-talk me.”

“Maybe I want to,” Jug said indulgently, and slipped two fingers in. 

The slight burn was a surprise, and Archie’s back lifted up off the bed – but it also felt strangely good, adding to the building heat but also concentrating all his attention, so that it was almost like he couldn’t feel his legs.

Jug rode out the move, pushing Archie back down with one hand at the small of his back, and moving those fingers, gently, in and out of Archie’s hole. Archie groaned, squeezing the pillow so tight his casted hand protested with a spark of pain.

Then Jug pressed a third finger in, and Archie stopped caring.

He writhed at the feeling, pressing his hard cock desperately into the sheets.

“Do you think you can come like this?” Jug asked, and he sounded fascinated.

Archie breathed for a moment, his whole back tightening, tilting his hips into this new delicious feeling. “Maybe,” he panted. “Not sure.”

“Hmm,” Jug said thoughtfully, and his movements changed, became less rhythmic and more searching. He crooked his fingers downward, and pressed in a few places – and then pressed against something that made Archie feel like he had to piss, or come, or both and he couldn’t quite tell them apart but in a really good way. He moaned, and Jug said smugly, “There it is,” and started rubbing right against it.

“Jug,” Archie moaned, trying to spread his legs even further, wanting to open to Jughead, wanting to be open. “Oh, my god, this feels …” He lost his words.

Jughead kept teasing that spot, and said, “Feels what?”

Archie could hear the smile. “Just, uh,” he panted. “There, please.”

“That’s your prostate, man,” Jug said, still laughing at him a little, but gently, in the way he always had.

“Mm,” Archie managed in reply. The pleasure seemed to spread outward from his prostate through his whole body. Archie pushed into the pillow, feeling the spark of pain from his hand and not caring, feeling like somehow it made the pleasure even sharper. He was aching, and he started to reach down with his left hand, just wanting some kind of pressure.

“Ah, ah, Archie,” Jug said, and he stopped moving. Archie heard himself whine, and his face got hotter. “As cute as this full-body blush is, buddy, you gotta remember our agreement.”

Archie throbbed. He swallowed, nodded, put his hand back under the pillow. “No touching,” he repeated. “But Juggie, please.”

“I’ll get you there,” Jug said, starting to move again. “Don’t worry.”

Archie melted into the feeling, and lost himself somewhere in Jug’s fingers and Jug’s voice. He just knew he felt more turned on than he ever had before, so on the edge of coming without tipping over, and after a while he stopped even trying. And somehow, he found a level of relaxation he’d never known exited. All his muscles went liquid, and Jug sank further in without even meaning to, and Archie’s moaning was near-continuous but he was barely moving, just feeling those waves of pleasure sweep through him. In the center of that pleasure, Archie … went away.

“Okay, Arch,” he heard, as if from a distant room, “come for me.”

And Archie did, and it was like being punched in the gut, too much and breath-stealing, and his whole body seized around the feeling, and then everything went black.

When he came to, moments later, Jug was cleaning him with a warm wash cloth, humming lightly to himself. When Archie stirred, he paused, and said, “You back with us?”

“Us?” Archie asked, and his voice was hoarse.

“Figure of speech,” Jug said, helping Archie turn over.

Archie stared up at him, feeling even more self-conscious about being the only one naked now that he wasn’t hard anymore. He couldn’t quite meet Jug’s eyes.

“You okay?” Jug asked. “Was it good?”

Archie nodded, still not quite looking up. “What about for you?” he asked. “Was it too weird?”

Jug shook his head, and passed Archie the wash cloth, which Archie swiped over his come-spattered belly self-consciously. “It was interesting,” Jug said. “I don’t know if I’d want to do it all the time, but yeah. It was … something.”

Jug was still on the other end of the bed. Archie shivered, and Jug took the wash cloth back and tapped Archie’s side. “Come on,” he said, “get under the covers.”

Even under his blanket, though, Archie felt … cold. Not physically, exactly, but suddenly he felt as alone as he’d been all summer.

Jug was messing with his blankets on the air bed, and Archie looked at him, shuddering just slightly. “Jug?” he ventured after a long moment.

“Yeah, Arch?” Jug said.

But he sounded tired, and Archie didn’t ask if they could cuddle, saying instead, “Thanks, man.”

“You’re welcome,” Jug said, smiling. “Night, Archie.”

“Night,” Archie echoed, and watched him until the other boy turned out the lights. 

Jug dropped off to sleep fairly quickly. Archie knew from years of sleepovers, and as Jug’s breathing slowed and changed rhythm slightly, Archie knew he was alone. He tried to sleep for a while, but the feeling of wrongness only got worse the longer he lay there. After what felt like hours of useless shaking, he tossed back the covers and grabbed his song-writing notebook. My kingdom came crashing down without you, he wrote, and I’m lost without your love. 

“Archie?” Jug said groggily, sitting up. “What’re you doing?”

“Sorry, didn’t meant to wake you,” Archie said, finishing off a musical notation and shutting the notebook. “Go back to sleep.”

Jug frowned at him, if anything looking more awake. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Archie equivocated, “just couldn’t sleep.”

Jug rolled his eyes, and fought his way out of the slightly deflated air mattress to crawl onto Archie’s bed. “Scoot over,” he said, nudging Archie’s side.

Archie went, even as he asked, “What’re you doing?”

“Cuddling,” Jug said, and moved Archie around until satisfied, Archie curled around him like a handsy blanket. “You should have just said, man,” Jug whispered after a moment, folding his arm over the arm Archie had slung around his middle.

Archie shifted a little closer at the touch, pressing his nose to the back of Jug’s neck. Jug’s familiar smell filled his senses, and Jug’s thin shoulders were relaxed under his arm, and something in Archie let go. “I didn’t realize,” he said sleepily.

“Yeah, well,” Jug mumbled, something playful about it. “Gotta do everything around here.”

“Hm,” Archie agreed, fading out. “You’re a good friend,” he slurred, and fell easily into sleep.

* * *

Archie Andrews was not good in a fight.

He could throw a punch, and he had strength on his side, but he’d never learned to plant his feet and take a hit, or to move his feet and dodge. Worst of both worlds, a sharp burst of pain across his jaw and he was on the ground, wondering how he got there.

The tall Serpent called Sweetpea was standing over him, in the heavy rain, and time seemed to stretch and bend as Archie waited for the next blow to fall.

Then there was a gunshot. 

The Serpents ran off, and Ronnie came over to help him up, gun tucked into the pocket of her cape. He took her hand, and climbed shakily to his feet.

“Doiley’s been stabbed,” Reggie called from where he was kneeling next to Dilton. A few of the guys got Dilton into Reggie’s car, and drove toward the hospital. Archie watched this happen, but did nothing about it. Everything felt distant in the pounding rain.

“Archie,” Ronnie asked him, “are you alright?”

He nodded, stumbled a little, and she helped him back into the house. His head ached, and his jaw was a hot point of pain.

She sat him down and got him some ice, which he pressed to his cheek with a hiss.

Later, when he told Ronnie he loved her, and she pretended it never happened, he would wonder about moments like this, and try to figure out which was the lie: her words, or her actions?

In the moment, he felt cared for. Loved. He leaned on her, and agreed to throw the gun in the river, for real this time.

* * *

Archie sat alone at the counter at Pop’s and worried about Jug, and Betty, and what he’d had to do for them both. Jug had looked so devastated – lost, and sort of wounded, like Archie had stabbed him.

He hadn’t wanted to do that. He’d never wanted to hurt his friends – but when one asked him to hurt another to keep him safe …

Archie’s fingers tugged at his hair, as if the external pain could distract from what he was feeling.

And Betty was probably just as upset, having to push away her best friend as well as her boyfriend. Ronnie hadn’t been returning his texts, and he thought she must be pretty upset. Everyone he loved was hurting, and for what? To make some psycho happy? For a moment, Archie regretted giving up his gun. Even with all the turmoil it brought, how upset his dad and Ronnie had been – part of him still wanted to shoot that son of a bitch.

“Sure you don’t want anything, son?” Pop said, startling Archie, who jerked back a little. “Woah, easy, didn’t mean to spook you.”

Archie licked his dry lips. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Pop didn’t address the apology, just leaned his elbows on the counter. “Lot on your mind.”

Archie laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Yeah you could say that.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Archie thought for a minute. “Have you ever …” he paused, licked his lips. “Have you ever hurt someone, a friend, but because you had to? For their own good?”

Pop frowned. “You kids get into a fight?”

Archie shrugged, looking down.

“Okay,” Pop said slowly. “How do you know it’s for their own good?”

“Um.” Archie bit his lip. “Another friend is really, really sure it is?”

“But you’re having doubts.”

“I guess. I just …” Archie paused, sighed. “I really hurt him.”

“And you’re worried that Jughead’s already going through enough?”

Archie could only nod.

“Talk to him,” Pop said, standing up. “Only thing you can do.”

Archie sniffed. “It’s not mine to tell.”

“Well, tell him what you can. And be there for him.” Pop turned to grab a fresh towel. “Actions usually speak louder than words.”

After Archie had gotten a couple of hours of sleep, and after Alice Cooper’s interrogation, Archie remembered Pop’s words and raced to the south side to warn Juggie about the raid.

Only to have to drag him out of there, yelling about losing all of his friends.

Archie took it. He deserved it, and more, probably. He’d done what Betty had needed him to so. But he’d known there would be a cost.

Half a mile down the road, after they’d escaped over the chain link fence and cut through a neighborhood, Jug stopped.

“Why’d you even bother, man?” he asked. “I thought you guys were through with me. I’m a no-good serpent, after all.”

Jug sounded bitter, but also really hurt, and his face was covered with bruises that hadn’t been there the day before. 

“I’ll never be done with you,” Archie said honestly, wanting very badly to hug his friend but knowing how unwelcome his touch would be. “What I told you … I’m sorry I said it like that.”

Jug snorted. “Betty breaking up with me … not sure you could’ve made that hurt any less.”

“Still,” Archie said. “I wish I could’ve … I wish I hadn’t had to do it. I just screwed it up.”

“No, you got the message across pretty well.” And Jug stopped again. “And now I’m comforting you over your breakup skills, Christ.”

“Sorry,” Archie winced. He wished he could tell Jug everything.

But he remembered his dad convulsing in his arms; looked down, and could almost see the blood on his hands.

“C’mere, Andrews,” Jug said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Buy me a burger, and explain what that little police raid was about.”

Feeling like their friendship might be a little less broken than he’d assumed, Archie turned toward Pop’s, his steps a little lighter.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang tries something ... experimental, and things go wrong.

The weird thing was, Archie wasn’t even there when it happened. When the deal was struck.

“Jughead and Betty want to borrow you for sex,” Ronnie informed him at their usual lunch table, causing him to choke on his sandwich.

She pounded him on the back, and he sputtered for a minute before managing, “What?”

“Threesome,” she said brightly, completely unphased by his attempt to aspirate turkey on rye. “You, Betty, Jughead Jones.”

Archie was sure that he must be beet red. “But you, we’re, I mean, isn’t that cheating?”

“Oh, Archie,” she said, putting on that voice that made her sound even more worldly-wise than usual. “It’s not cheating if I arranged it.”

“But why would you … are you breaking up with me?”

“Archiekins, no.” She hugged him, throwing both arms as far around him as she could manage from the side. “That’s not what this is, I promise.”

He relaxed a little into her hold, grabbing her arm around his stomach in a slightly desperate grip. “So this is … what?”

“Helping out our dear friends.” She sighed, and pulled back a little. “Betty and I were having a girl’s night …”

Archie nodded. By default, he and Jug had been stuck having a boy’s night, right across the way, thinking wistfully of soft skin and superior snacks.

“… and Betty confided something in me something I’m pretty sure you already know about one Jughead Jones.”

“Um,” Archie said nervously.

“Exactly,” Ronnie said. “And Betty would very much like to try something, something sexual. So you see their problem.”

Archie decided this must be about Jug’s asexuality. “He’s not totally sex-repulsed,” he muttered.

Ronnie rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, that part of their relationship is going fine.” She paused. “And how do you know about that? I thought you small-town boys didn’t kiss and tell.”

If anything, Archie managed to go redder. “Before we got together,” he said, voice a little strangled.

“Mmhmm.” She eyed him speculatively. “Very intriguing, Mister Andrews.”

“I didn’t think …”

“No, of course not,” she said dismissively. “So you know his limits.”

“Yeah,” Archie whispered.

“Good, so you see the problem with Betty topping.”

Archie’s eyebrows flew up. “Doing what now?”

“Pegging,” Ronnie said cheerfully, going back to her quinoa salad as if her words were no big deal. “You’ll be a doll and help them out, won’t you?”

“Um,” Archie looked down. “What’s pegging?”

“Oh, we have got to expand our repertoire.”

* * *

The head popped in, his rim sealing tight around molded rubber, harder and less yielding than he’d thought it would be, and Betty made a fascinated sound, running her hands over the tensed muscles in his ass, the long muscles on either side of his spine. “This okay, Arch?” she asked, voice breathy and excited. He nodded, grinding his forehead into the mattress.

“Archie,” Jug whispered, and flexed his hand, and Archie realized how tightly he was holding on. Betty’s plastic cock hard inside him, but he breathed, and tried to relax. He loosened his grip on Jug’s hand, and Jug wriggled his fingers gratefully.

Betty pulled back, just a little, the molded head tugging at his rim. He whined, and she laughed, giddy, and shoved back in.

Just a small slip, a shift in balance, and she was down to the hilt in one too-swift move that forced all the air from Archie’s lungs. She fell across his back, still giggling, and he tried to remember how to breathe.

“This okay?” Juggie asked softly, wiggling his fingers again in their tight grip.

“Mmhmm,” Archie managed, as Betty braced herself with two hands on his hips and pulled out again, almost all the way.

And back in, hard. He huffed, a small, pained sound. Her hips slammed into him, and his brow furrowed tightly.

“This is awesome,” Betty said, digging her fingers into Archie’s hips, wriggling to get a little more pressure from her end. “I want to do this all the time.”

Archie’s heart sank a little, but he murmured, “Okay,” and tried to endure. She thrust in again, and again, pulling out slowly only to slam back in, more power than he’d thought possible, and this was really starting to hurt.

“Hey, you wanna stop?” Jug asked gently.

“N—no,” Archie stammered, clutching Jug’s hand a little tighter. 

“You look so good like this,” Betty moaned, leaning over Archie’s back.

Her hands smoothed over his sides, over his stomach, downward, and found his limp cock.

She froze.

“Archie?” Her voice, which had been pleased and pleasure-drenched, was so very small all of a sudden.

“It’s okay,” he managed, “keep going.”

“What’s wrong?” Jug asked.

“Is this hurting you?” Betty asked.

“No, it’s fine,” Archie insisted, evading Jug’s concerned gaze. “I’m fine.”

But Betty was already pulling out, and she moaned, “There’s blood, Juggie,” and Jug was leaping back to look, and Archie wanted to die of mortification, pressing himself into the covers as if he could hide there, just melt through the mattress and never have to screw anything up again.

Jug’s blunt fingers, familiar by now, pressed gently into Archie’s hole. They stung a little, and Archie tried to stifle a small, hurt noise. But Betty heard. “Oh my god,” she said, and it sounded like she was crying.

Archie turned over, forcing Jug’s fingers to slip out of him. He winced, but insisted, “It’s fine, it was going fine.”

Betty was fumbling with the harness, but she stopped and gave him a sort of frozen, sad look. “Oh, Archie,” she said, and ran.

“I’m sorry,” Archie said, trying to get up. A weird spike of pain hit his lower back, and he fell. “Juggie, stop her, tell her I’m sorry, it’s okay, I’m okay.”

Jug helped him lay back down, and said, “Stay here, I’ll bring her back. But dude, we have to talk about this. You have to tell us if something is hurting you.”

And then he was gone, too, and Archie was alone.

“Idiot,” he chided himself, curling around the pillow as he began to shake. He should’ve been able to take it. Betty deserved that much, and he couldn’t even give her this one thing.

He pulled the thin blanket up over his head, wanting nothing more than to hide. He’d ruined everything. 

It started to feel harder to breathe. He threw the blanket back, but it didn’t help. Gasping, he pushed himself up against the headboard, arms wrapping around his ribs like a brace. The corners of the room seemed far away, and he couldn’t breathe, oh, god, he couldn’t breathe.

A hand touched his bare shoulder. A voice said, “Hey, there,” in low, soothing tones. A second voice said, “C’mon, Arch, breathe with me.”

“Jug?” he gasped, forcing his eyes open.

They were both there. Betty smiling past tear-stained cheeks, Jug rubbing his arm.

“You came back,” he choked out.

They both pressed closer. “Of course we did,” Betty said. “I’m so sorry, Archie.”

With every moment of touch, he was able to calm down a little more. “I’m sorry,” he managed. “I ruined it.”

“No, Archie,” Betty said, laying her head on his shoulder. “Nothing’s ruined.”

“We just need to communicate better,” Jug murmured, pressed against Archie’s other side.

“Sorry,” he muttered. His hands had a slight tremble, and Jug caught one, tried to hold it still.

“None of that, Archiekins,” a voice said from the door.

Archie’s head snapped up. “Ronnie?”

She sauntered in, deposited her purse on the chair, and crawled into bed with them. “I’m thinking a more supervised playtime is in order, from now on.”

“It’s not their fault,” Archie said, sniffling a little.

“Oh, Archie,” Betty said, kissing his shoulder. “Ever the protector.”

“I mean it, Betty, it was me, I screwed everything up.”

“Hm,” Jug eyes him thoughtfully. “And how did you do that?”

Archie swallowed. “I should’ve been stronger. I will be, Betty, we can try again. I’ll be better.”

“Archibald,” Ronnie said, and there was warning in her voice. “This needs to be something you enjoy, too, not just something you endure, or Betty won’t be able to enjoy it either.”

Archie’s brow furrowed. He glanced at Betty for confirmation, and she nodded, eyes damp. He bit his lip. “I can do that,” he said, psyching himself up.

“If you really think you could enjoy pegging,” Jug began, “then we could try again. But you have to be honest about what you’re feeling.” Jug sighed. “Even I know this isn’t something you should try to tough out.”

Ronnie crawled into his lap, and just like that he was completely surrounded, practically crushed by everyone he loved. Abruptly, his whole body relaxed into their warmth, like he’d been drugged with it. “Ugh,” Ronnie muttered, tucking her head under his chin. “Have none of you heard of safe words?”

Archie drifted, too relaxed to answer. As if from far away, he heard Betty’s chagrined, “Oh,” and Jug’s soft curse.

“Are you falling asleep?” a voice asked, but he was already gone.

After a few minutes, a hand tapped Archie’s cheek. “Hey,” Jug said, though his voice sounded strangely distant. “Are you with us, Arch?” He sounded concerned, and the hand tapped a few more times, growing more insistent. “Come on, man, say something.”

Archie dragged his eyes open, though it felt like it took a great deal of effort. “Yeah?” he whispered.

“You okay?” Jug asked. Betty, next to him, echoed, “Are you feeling okay, Archie?”

“I’m fine,” he murmured, voice just a little stronger. “What’re we talking about?”

“You, kind of,” Ronnie said, running her fingers through his hair. “So try not to drift off.”

“Okay,” he said agreeably, pulling himself up a little. That odd jolt of pain shot through his lower back again, and he tried to hide a wince.

Unsuccessfully.

This is what we’re discussing,” Ronnie said, her voice stern. “Betty is willing to try this again – not now, but sometime. If you learn how to use a safe word, and agree to actually _use_ it.”

Archie squirmed uncomfortably. “I trust Betty.”

“So trust that I care about you,” she said, putting a hand on his arm, “and that I really don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know. Me too.” He smiled, and she beamed back at him.

“So be honest with me. Tell me what feels good to you, and what doesn’t.”

Part of him still thought that it didn’t matter how he felt about what they did, as long as the others were happy. But he knew better than to say so, and instead agreed, promising all three that he would let them know how he was feeling at every stage.

As if in reward, they all stayed, snuggling together on the bed, Archie roughly in the middle. Surrounded, he slept better than he had in months.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An accident brings up memories Archie thought he'd left behind.

Archie thundered down the stairs, already running late, only to see his father putting the final touches on the DNA model that was due that day in biology. Archie let out a chagrined moan, and Fred looked up from his collection of wood dowels and foam balls with a patient frown. “I should make you ask for an extension,” he said.

“Thank you,” Archie breathed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe I forgot that was due today.”

“You’ve been distracted,” Fred acknowledged, blowing gently on the connection point of two bits of wood, trying to dry the glue faster.

Archie grimaced. “You shouldn’t be doing this, your stitches …”

“Hey, I’m already banned from the site,” he said, jokingly enough though Archie knew how it rankled. “At least I can build this.”

Archie approached sheepishly. “Can I help?”

“Yeah, son, hold this while I get the next piece.”

Archie held the pieces as still as he could, and his dad added another foam ball, this one painted red, consulting a chart before dabbing on the glue.

“Really, dad. Thanks.”

“You’ll get back on top of things,” Fred muttered. “Everything will get back to normal.”

“Yeah, I hope so.” Archie frowned at the model.

There was a thumping on the stairs, Jug coming down, carrying a model of his own.

“Dude,” Archie said.

“Nice work, Jug,” Fred said, still focused on Archie’s model. “Last one, bud.”

“That’s awesome, dad, thanks.”

“What did you think I was doing last night?” Jug asked, reaching for a piece of toast.

Archie groaned. “That explains a lot.”

“Alright, c’mon guys, you’ll make it on time if you hurry.”

Archie shoved a piece of toast in his mouth, slung on his letterman jacket and backpack, grabbed the model and ran for the door, Jug on his heels.

The air was brisk, but not so cold as it had been. Archie tucked the model under his right arm so he could eat the toast. His hand in its cast tingled a bit, but didn’t hurt, and the sun was bright and warming.

Jug walked like it was thirty below and raining, tucked all up in his hoodie.

“You okay?” Archie asked him.

“Just feeling cold, don’t worry about it.”

“You aren’t getting sick, are you?”

Jug sniffed. “Don’t think so.”

“We were just supposed to do the model, right? No report?”

“No, no report,” Jug said, and knocked their shoulders together.

“I’ll be so glad to be done with school,” Archie groused.

“College will be better,” Jug said confidently. “We’ll get to take classes we’re actually interested in, and arrange our schedules however we want. No more getting up at dawn.

“Yeah,” Archie said unenthusiastically.

Jug glanced over at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Jug, I don’t, um, I don’t think I want to go to college.”

“What?” Jug stopped walking. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Archie looked down. “It, uh, it’s just that…” He huffed, shifted the model. “I’m not smart like you, Jug, or Betty. There’s no point in me going to college. I can’t even manage high school bio.”

Jug frowned. “Hey, don’t talk like that. You’re not stupid.”

Archie shrugged. “I make Cs, Juggie. Maybe Bs, if I’m lucky. You’re so clever, and Betty makes straight As. Hell, Cheryl has a 4.0 GPA, did you know that? What makes you think I’ll even be accepted to NYU?” He started walking again, and Jug followed more slowly.

“Do you want more help with your homework? Or we could study more for tests. There are ways to get your grades up.”

“Are you going to carry me through college, too?” Archie shook his head. “It’s not practical.”

“So, what, you’re just giving up?”

Archie sighed. “No, I guess not. I’m just saying, I don’t know. That I don’t think it’s going to happen. I know it was your dream, but … I don’t think I can be what you need me to be. Not this time.”

Jug was silent for the rest of the walk. But as they parted ways to go to homeroom, he turned to Archie, and said, “Promise you’ll at least try?”

Archie nodded, but didn’t say anything.

Later, in Bio, Archie handed over his father’s DNA model to Mr. Flutey for grading. He received a B, which he hadn’t earned, and retreated to his seat, in a forest of other models, feeling a little sick about it. Reggie sat next to him, toting his own model, slightly wobbly, boasting to Moose about his C. Archie looked at the line of student at the front of the class, and thought of his future, not making it to NYU, maybe stuck here working for his dad, maybe able to get somewhere as a musician, either way, probably alone while the others went on without him.

In the midst of these dark thoughts, Archie caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, felt a sudden burst of pain, and then everything went black.

He came around moments later, on the floor, Reggie and Mr. Flutey hovering over him.

“What…?”

“I’m afraid I knocked Mr. Mantle’s model over onto your head, Mr. Andrews,” Mr. Flutey said, chagrined. 

Archie reached up and touched the sore spot on his head, and hissed. His fingers came back with blood on them.

“You okay, man?” Reggie asked, looking concerned.

“I think so,” Archie said, and reached out his left hand. Reggie and Mr. Flutey helped him up, back into his seat. Betty crouched next to him, and touched his face.

“Are you dizzy?” she asked him.

“A little,” he said, underplaying it by a lot. The room seemed to whirl around him, and Betty’s face creased with a soft concern. Ronnie stood a little behind her, looking uncertain, and Archie noticed that a lot of the other students were watching him. Feeling conspicuous, he closed his eyes.

“Archie?” Ronnie said anxiously.

Mr. Flutey said, “Maybe you should stay here for a while, just until we know that you’re okay.”

“We should get the nurse,” Betty said.

And then Jug was there, his voice anyway, saying, “Here she is.”

“That’s where you went,” Ronnie said, and then there was a hand on Archie’s face, a thumb forcing one of his eyelids open and shining a bright light right in it.

He flinched back, but that didn’t stop the nurse from checking his other eye.

“Looks like a minor concussion,” she said briskly. “Can two of you help me get him to my office?”

“I gotcha,” Reggie said, jumping up. He’d become much more caring, solicitous even, after being made team captain.

Jug took Archie’s other side. The girls tried to follow, but Mr. Flutey corralled them and started getting everyone back to work.

“That’s one way to get out of class,” Just said, loud enough that Archie could hear, but softly enough that the nurse couldn’t. Reggie chuckled, and Archie managed a little smirk. The room swirled around him, then, and he clutched at Jug’s shoulder to stay upright.

“Woah, there,” Jug said, steadying him. Archie clung gratefully, and they said no more until they arrived at the nurse’s office.

She sent Reggie and Jug away as soon as Archie was up on the exam bed. Jug mouthed, “Stay strong,” and then he was gone.

The nurse touched the sore spot on his head, causing him to wince. “This might need a stitch,” she said, running her fingers through his hair to push it aside. The feeling made him shiver.

“Should we call my dad?”

“Well, that’s up to you. How is he feeling?”

At the reminder of his dad’s health, Archie’s heart sank. He couldn’t ask his dad to drive up to the school for something this silly. “He’s feeling better. But I guess we don’t have to call him for just a stitch.”

“That’s a good boy,” she said, and pulled out a small plastic box from which she drew a needle, curved and packaged individually in paper and what looked like cellophane, a small package of stitches, scissors, and a pair of gloves.

“This might sting a bit,” she said, soaking a cotton ball and pressing it to the wound.

Archie winced, and tried to pull back. She tsked him, pressing harder with the cotton ball. It hurt, sending a bolt of pain through him that twisted his stomach. She continued with the stitch, and he stayed still, like she wanted, shivering.

It really was just one stitch, quickly done, a prick and an odd tug, then she was snipping something with the scissors and carefully applying Neosporin and a bandage. “Okay, Mr. Andrews, lay back for a bit.”

“I have English next,” he objected, but let her push him to lie flat on the exam bed. With his hand still in its cast, and now a bandage on his head, he imagined he looked a bit pathetic.

He must have dozed off. His thoughts melted into dreams, strangely realistic, of being back in class. There was a bell, which didn’t seem out of place in the dream and which didn’t wake him up. It was a hand on his shoulder that did it, a small, feminine hand and he opened his eyes to see an older woman leaning over him, and she was wearing glasses and for just a second, in his half-dreaming state, she was Miss Grundy. But not Miss Grundy, because she had been murdered. For just a moment the figure seemed pale, half-rotted. A corpse.

He jerked back, scrambling until his back hit the wall. 

The figure flinched back, and let out a small, high-pitched yelp.

It was the nurse.

It was just the nurse.

Archie’s chest was heaving, breath jerking in and out like it wanted to escape from his chest.

The nurse put her hand to her heart. “Goodness, Mr. Andrews, you startled me.”

But her voice felt like it was far away, and the edges of the room seemed to darken. He couldn’t catch his breath, and he clutched at his throat, gasping.

“Are you alright, Mr. Andrews?”

“I don’t, I—” He was shaking, and it was like the air itself was shivering, too, wavering and pulses of black came and went. That only made his breath come faster, and faster, his heart racing. He pressed harder against the wall. She reached out to him, and he flinched, gasped on nothing, there was no air, and he ran.

Stumbling through a blurring, pulsing world, he ran. His knees were weak, and sent him sprawling on the slick linoleum floor of the school’s hallway, then in mud, he was outside, but he didn’t remember leaving the school and part of him thought yes, fresh air, but he still couldn’t breathe. 

Eventually he planted his back against a tree and gasped and gasped and gasped.

Even that kind of terror couldn’t last forever. After some minutes, or maybe even hours, Archie came back to himself.

He didn’t know where he was right away. He was sitting under a tree, covered in mud and cold sweat, his hair wet with it. His hand in its cast ached, like he’d been punching something. His chest ached like something had been punching him. 

He didn’t have his backpack, or the letterman’s jacket he’d been wearing earlier. Patting his pockets, he couldn’t find his cell phone, either. He looked around, climbing to his feet slowly, gingerly. He was in the woods, in the middle of the woods, with no obvious sign or familiar landmark that he could see. “Hello?” he called, but there was no answer.

Shivering from the cold, now, he started walking. His shoes felt strange on his feet, and he stumbled over tree roots and low brush, looking for anything familiar. It seemed like the forest was getting darker, the light dimmer, and Archie worried that the sun might be going down. He had no idea how long he’d been wandering, and he was growing stiff with the cold. He folded his arms over his stomach, called out again.

There was no answer, but he heard something in the distance, like someone had left a tap open – running water, the river! He started walking toward the sound, then moving a little faster, almost running, stumbling still, clumsy from the cold.

Bursting out from the treeline, he staggered to the edge of the water, gasping, but with relief this time. 

He knew this stretch of the river! The bridge was upstream from here, not too far, or he could cut back through the woods to Pop’s. He looked up and down the river for a moment, up at the darkening sky, the sun indeed setting, and started following the river upstream.

His arms clutched tightly to his chest, he staggered awkwardly along the bank. When he saw the bridge in the distance, even though he’d been sure he knew where it was, it was still a massive relief. 

He wondered for a moment if he should return to the school. But the sun was down, streetlights flickering on, so he headed home. It was closer, anyway, and he was so cold.

The porch light was on, and his dad’s truck was in the driveway – everything that said home. He picked up the pace, jogging as the lights got closer and he could almost feel the warmth.

He got up the steps before realizing he didn’t have his keys, either, and he almost despaired – but then the door was opening, and his dad was pulling him into a hug, and Jughead was rushing in from the kitchen, and flinging his arms around Fred and Archie both, and Archie shivered in their arms.

“What happened, bud?” Fred asked, whispering the question into Archie’s damp hair. “Where have you been?”

“In the woods,” Archie managed through chattering teeth, “not sure how, uh, I got there.”

Fred pulled back a little, but he didn’t let go. “The school nurse called. She said you had a panic attack, son, and ran off.”

Jug snorted. “After Mr. Flutey knocked Reggie’s DNA model over on your head.”

“They should have called me,” Fred said, frowning. He peered at Archie’s head, and tilted it until he could see the bandaged wound. “As soon as this happened. How’re you feeling?”

Archie was still shivering, and they all finally moved further into the house, settling Archie on the couch with a blanket draped around his shoulders and a mug of hot chocolate in his trembling hands.

“I should let B and V know you’re back,” Jug said, pulling out his phone.

Archie stirred. “Did I leave my phone at school?”

“Yeah, bud,” Fred said ruefully. “And your jacket, and your backpack.”

“I brought your stuff home,” Jug said, not looking up from texting the girls.

“Sorry, thanks,” Archie said, sipping his drink.

“I should let the sheriff know to call off the search,” Fred said, pulling out his own cell.

Archie cringed, trying to sink into the couch. “There was a search?”

“Not much of one,” Jug said disdainfully. “He wouldn’t accept a missing person’s report for another thirty-six hours, even though you’re a minor, and were injured. Hack.”

Archie shrugged. “I’m okay, though. It’s fine.”

Jug leaned against him, so that Archie could feel his warmth all along his side. Archie leaned into him gratefully.

“Why’d you run off?” Jug asked. “Really?”

Archie shrugged. “I’m not sure.” When Jug looked skeptical, Archie insisted, “No, really. I just. I woke up, and the nurse was leaning over me, and … I don’t know. Next thing I knew, I was in the woods, alone.”

“And that was it?” Jug pressed. “Nothing else?”

Archie’s gaze stuck on his mug. “It, um, just, just for a second, really, I thought I saw …”

“What?”

“Her,” Archie whispered. “Miss. Grundy.”

Jug sat up a little. “What do you mean?”

Archie shook his head. “I was imagining it, I know that. It’s just, for a second…”

Jug put a hand on his arm. “I get it.

**Author's Note:**

> The song Archie sings in Grundy’s car is “Like I Would,” Zayn Malik. The songs Archie is “writing” are all taken from B⌀rns, specifically from “Electric Love” in this chapter.


End file.
